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SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF TEMPERANCE 



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EDITED BY 



S. F. CARY, M. W. P. 

OF THE SONS OF TEMPERANCE OF NORTH AMERICA. 



NEW-YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY R. VANDIEN. 



HV5Z9 5 






Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1850, 

By Richard Vandien, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court, of the United States, 

for the Southern District of New- York 



Stereotyped "by Vincent L. Dill, 

128 Fulton-street, N. T. 
C. A. Alvord, Printer, 29 Gold-street. 



INTRODUCTION 



Inspired wisdom centuries ago declared " of making many 
books there is no end." Had Solomon spoken this in reference 
to our own age it would have been pre-eminently true, and if 
the present generation is not growing in wisdom it cannot be 
for the want of mental aliment. It is to be feared that the 
mind is dissipated, and the heart depraved, by being required 
to feed upon the worthless trash furnished by a prolific press. 
Even in this bookmaking age, a good book is a jewel. A great 
responsibility rests upon those who offer food to the immortal 
nature, for the mind once taken captive, like the appetite of the 
drunkard, demands more similar poison to appease depraved 
desire. Our design in getting up this volume, is to add to the 
stock of pure temperance literature, to elevate in the public 
mind, that reform so full of promised blessings to the present 
and coming generations. 

Believing as we do, that he Temperance Reform is one 
of the mighty agencies to be employed for the elevation of 
man, the improvement of society, the stability of free popular 



VI INTRODUCTION. 

institutions, and the moral and religious renovation of a wicked 
world, we avail ourselves of the press — the principal medium 
of reaching the public mind — to promote the precious interests, 
and advance the standard of this god-like enterprize. 

As incident to our general design, and to render the work 
more attractive and interesting, we have introduced faithful 
portraits and brief biographical sketches of a few of the most 
distinguished champions of our holy cause. There are many 
others perhaps equally deserving a place in our portrait gallery ; 
indeed all who have labored devotedly, zealously, honestly and 
perseveringly in this department of moral reform, should be 
enrolled among the benefactors of their race — but the extent of 
this work prescribes a limit to our selection. 

The elevated character, and exalted reputation of the contrib- 
utors to this volume, will be sufficient to commend it to the 
attention of the reading public. Finally, whether our effort to 
contribute a mite to the pure literature of the country, promote 
the well being of society and the glory of God shall be success- 
ful, remains to be seen ; whatever may be the result, we commit 
it to the hands of our countrymen, with the happy consciousness 
of being actuated by a sincere desire to do good. 

S. F. CARY. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



ENGRAVED ON STEEL, 



J. SARTAIN, H. S. SADD, & T. DONEY* 



S. F. CARY, M. W. P Root Frontispiece. 

THE REST Matteson.. Vignette Title. 

THE STORY OF THE BOTTLE Matteson 22 

DANIEL H. SANDS, P. M. W. P Brady 49 

PHILIP S. WHITE, P. M. W. P Root 74 

THE DRUNKARD'S HOME Matteson 103 

THE TEMPERANCE HOME Matteson 129 

F. A. FICKARDT, M. W. S Root 165 

HON. E. DILLAHUNTY, G. W. P Root 180 

LYMAN BEECHER, D. D Cox 204 

REV. T. P. HUNT Root 225 

THE WIDOW AND HER SON Matteson 241 

FATHER MATTHEW Root 271 

JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P Brady 292 

HON. HORACE GREELY Brady 310 

JOHN H. W. HAWKINS Brady 318 



TO 



€fyt $ntts nf €tmpxnuit t 



THIS VOLUME 



IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 



BY THE 



CONTENTS. 



THE RECHABITES MISS PHCEBE CAREY. _ 11 

RETROSPECT OF PAST, &C PHILIP S. WHITE, P. M. W. P 13 

THE CONVICT MISS ALICE CAREY 18 

STORY OF THE BOTTLE S. F. CARY, M. W. P 22 

S. F. CARY, M. W. P 29 

BRANDIOPATHY. . . . REV. H. D. KITCHEL 32 

THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER MRS. EMMA C EMBURY 46 

DANIEL H. SANDS, P. M. W. P 49 

THE RECHABITE'S VISION REV. C B. PARSONS 50 

ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS EDWARD C. DELAVAN 56 

CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLE.. GEO. B. CHEEVER, D. D 70 

PHILIP S. WHITE, P. M. W: P 74 

PROEM MISS PHCEBE CAREY 77 

THE CIRCEAN CUP T. S. ARTHUR 79 

THE DRUNKARD'S HOME MRS. J. C. CAMPBELL 103 

THE WINE-CUP MRS. C. M- SAWYER 109 

LAKE SUPERIOR AND THE NORTH-WEST HON. HORACE GREELEY Ill 

THE TEMPERANCE HOME MRS. E. J. EAMES 129 

THE SPARKLING-BOWL REV. J. PIERPONT 141 

THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR REV. J. TOWNLEY CRANE, M. A. 143 

FREDERICK A. FICKARDT, M. W. S 165 

THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE DR. F. A- FICKARDT, M. W. S-.166 



X CONTENTS 

HON. E. DILLAHUNTY, G- W. P 180 

INTEMPERANCE HON. E. DILLAHUNTY, G. W. P. 185 

LOOK NOT ON WINE MRS. E. F. ELLET 202 

LYMAN BEECHER, D. D 204 

APPEAL TO LADIES REV. A- L. STONE, P. G. W. P. .21 1 

THE OLD MAN'S LAST WISH MRS. E. C. EMBURY 222 

REV. T. P. HUNT 225 

SOME THOUGHTS ON THE SUBJECT REV. H. HASTINGS WELD 227 

ROSEMARY HILL MISS ALICE CAREY 238 

THE WIDOW AND HER SON MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY 241 

TEMP. REFORMATION AND THE CHURCH.. REV. E. N. KIRK 265 

FATHER MATHEW 271 

DASH THE WINE-CUP AWAY W. H. BURLEIGH 278 

INCONSISTENCIES OF FRIENDS OF TEMP DR. CHARLES JEWETT 281 

TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION REV. ALBERT BARNES 284 

JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P 292 

THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN N. WILSON, P. G. W. P 301 

THE SPOILER.. _. MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY 308 

HON. HORACE GREELEY 310 

JOHN H. W. HAWKINS 318 



THE NATIONAL 

If £ SO S> H IB & S3 ® S ©FFHSIIEI® 



THE RECHABITES 



BY MISS PHffiBE CAREY. 



They came and brought the Rechabites, who dwelt in tents of 

old, 
To chambers decked with tapestry, and cunning-work and gold, 
And set before them pots of wine, and cups that mantled high, 
But when they tempted them to drink, they answered fearlessly ; 
And said, our father Jonadab, the son of Rechab, spake, 
Commanding us to drink no wine forever for his sake ; 
And therefore we will taste not of the cup you bring us now, 
For our children's children to the end shall keep our father's 

vow : 
And the Lord who heard the Rechabites, and loves a faithful 

heart, 
Pronounced a blessing on their tribe that never shall depart. 



12 THE RECHABITES. 

Thus we will taste not of the wine, and though the streams 

should dry,. 
Yet the living God who made us will hear his children cry ; 
For Moses smote the solid rock, and lo ! a fountain smiled, 
And Hagar in the wilderness drew water for her child ; 
And the beautiful and innocent of all earth's living things 
Drink nothing but the crystal wave that gushes from her springs ; 
The birds that feed upon the hills, seek where the fountains 

burst, 
And the hart beside the water-brooks stoops down to slake his 

thirst ; 
The herb that feels the summer rain on the mountain smiles 

anew, 
And the blossoms with their golden cups drink only of the dew. 
And we will drink the clear cold stream, and taste of nought 

beside, 
And He who blessed the Rechabites, the Lord will be our guide ! 



RETROSPECT OF THE PAST, 

AND 

CONTEMPLATION OF THE FUTURE 

BY PHILIP S. WHITE, P. M. W. P. 

It is well to turn from the busy scenes that encircle us and 
gaze out, at intervals, through the long vista of years, and mark 
the changes and revolutions that have passed over the world. 
In the whirling together of hostile atoms amid the grand com- 
motion of elemental strife, stirred by a spirit of free inquiry and 
investigation, the mists of ignorance and clouds of superstition 
have been dispelled ; and the glorious sun of science, of knowl- 
edge and of virtue, allowed to shed his warm and refreshing rays 
along the path of man. Under its benign influence, we have 
witnessed crowns and thrones crumbling to ashes; the servile 
yoke of bondage falling from the necks of oppressed millions ; 
and the going out of false dogmas and opinions in religion, met- 
aphysics and philosophy, that claimed authority from heaven, 
and the high prerogative of tyranizing over the minds, bodies 
and consciences of men. As wave succeeds wave upon the 
bosom of the great deep, so has revolution followed revolution 
upon the boisterous ocean of life; bringing up from its depths 
the whole mass of moral energies, which has swept on with 
increasing force until the entire aspect of this globe has been 



14 RETROSPECT OF THE PAST. 

changed — until its gloomy and extended wilderness appears in 
the beautiful garb of a flowery and sunny landscape. And not- 
Avithstanding destruction has, at times, marked this spirit of pro- 
gression, yet from the very ruins, from the blood, the carnage, 
the havoc with which they have strewn the earth — as from the 
floods of lava sent down by the volcanoes to deluge the valleys, 
— has arisen a fertilizing principle, to cover with beauty and 
moral verdure the great plain of human affairs ; until society, 
which cannot fail to progress while the noble principles of man 
are in motion, is carried up to that sublime height on which we 
now stand ; where the light of the accumulated truth, wisdom 
and experience of sixty centuries breaks in upon the enraptured 
vision. 

Well may we exclaim, a new era has dawned upon man ! 
Awakening from his long and inglorious sleep of centuries, he 
has marked, with lightning in the heavens, with floating cities 
that bridge the ocean, with gorgeous palaces upon the earth, 
with the iron steeds of steam that draw his triumphal cars, his 
certificate to a divinity of origin; and though fallen from his 
high estate is still a splendid wreck, and like eternal Rome, sub- 
lime even in ruins ! So great has been the improvement in his 
moral, intellectual and political condition — so miraculous the 
achievements wrought by the arts and sciences in the promotion 
of his physical and social wants, that credulity itself can scarcely 
credit. 

Amid all these convulsions, — these upheavings of mind, that 
like a volcanoe in throes, have wrecked some of the mightiest 
fabrics of human creation, moral power has gained supremacy 
over mere brute force. Revolutions in governments, that change 
the entire civil polity of nations; in religion, that break down 
idols at which superstition has bowed for ages; and in philoso- 
phy, of opinions that had held the force of law for untold gen- 



RETROSPECT OF THE PAST. 15 

erations ; are now carried on and concluded without violence or 
bloodshed — without hushing the song of the reapers, or stilling 
the sound of busy machinery. And of all the sublime lights 
have loomed out in the moral horizon, none of modern date 
have cast such cheering beams over oppressed and down-trodden 
man — none have done so much for ameliorating his condition — 
for refining, advancing and elevating his intellectual, moral and 
social being, as the great Temperance Reformation that is so 
rapidly extending itself throughout the civilized world — dispel- 
ling torpid gloom that has so long blighted and obscured the 
intellects of thousands, poisoning the nobler emotions of their 
natures, blasting their every prospect of earthly happiness and 
hope of future bliss. It is this star of Temperance that directs 
the drunkard to his earthly savior ; and whose pure light, shin- 
ing through the widow's tears and orphan's sighs, spans the sky 
of man's hopes with the rainbow of promise. How many hearts 
have been gladdened, how many cheeks have been refreshened 
with joy, how many eyes of sorrow grown bright, at the coming 
of the new luminary, over whose rising the guardian angels of 
man's happiness shout jubilee ! 

When we look back to what has been accomplished in our own 
country through the efficient organization of that great brother- 
hood, the Sons of Temperance, the heart of the philanthro- 
pist and patriot is made to swell with grateful emotion ; and hope, 
like a beacon light rising over the shattered wrecks that bestrew 
the bosom of a storm-ridden ocean, and raises the prospect of a 
speedy delivery from the maddened waves that have long threat- 
ened to engulph the harmony and peace of society in one com- 
mon vortex of hopeless ruin. Within the brief period of ten 
years the great Temperance Reformation has accomplished 
towards moral reformation — more for the amelioration of the 
condition of down-trodden humanity — in our own country, 



16 RETROSPECT OF THE PAST. 

than in all preceding time from the first organization of our 
great and glorious republic. It has succeeded in discounte- 
nancing a false and pernicious etiquette by removing from the 
sideboard of the fashionable circle, the sparkling and deceptive 
temptation to dissipation. It has succeeded in removing inebriety 
from high places. It has succeeded in arresting the downward 
tendency of thousands of unfortunate victims to hopeless ruin ; 
and of turning their footsteps from drunkenness and vice, to mo- 
rality and religion. It has succeeded in rekindling the pure fires 
of love and affection upon the desecrated altars of the domestic 
circle, and of making home happy to families long estranged by 
blighting discord. The burning tear of despair has been turned 
into a grateful tribute of affection — the pallid cheek recolored 
with the bloom of youthful freshness, and the blighted hopes 
and anticipations of love's young dream, that had been driven 
from the heart's sacred fane, like the melancholy dove from its 
mateless nest, have been wooed back from their long and dreary 
banishment, to rest in quiet through the lapse of coming years. 
The influence of this great temperance brotherhood — this swel- 
ling army of practical philanthropists — is felt and seen not only 
along the private walks of life, but is telling upon the destiny of 
a mighty nation. It is purging the political arena of its vile 
corruptions — it is uncloging the wheels of science and of learn- 
ing — it is building up schools, academies and colleges from the 
city to the waste places — it is depopulating our prisons, and 
banishing from the land, the hangman and the gallows. As 
Heaven is higher than earth — as time is outmeasured by eternity 
— so do all other schemes of human origin dwindle into insig- 
nificance when contrasted with the moral sublimity of this great 
cause. 

Let us onward, then, in our glorious career of freedom — free- 
dom not only from the shackles of political oppression, but social, 



RETROSPECT OF THE PAST. 17 

moral freedom — until man is redeemed from the degradation of 
ignorance and folly and crime, and attains that lofty eminence 
in the scale of being for which he was designed by his God. — 
Being a common cause — the cause of humanity — who should 
not feel an interest in its complete and final triumph'? It is a 
contest between virtue and vice, happiness and misery, in which 
there is no neutral ground. Activity is the soul of duty. Then 
on, brothers, on ! the guardian angel that attends the virtuous 
and the good, with her snow-white banner of "Love, Purity 
and Fidelity" unfurled, beckons you to the charge! If you are 
victorious in the struggle, no warrior's chaplet may adorn your 
brow — no loud hosannas fall upon your ear, — but that heartfelt 
joy and fullness of satisfaction will be yours, that all of earth's 
wealth, pageantry and power can never purchase. And when 
you fall, though your grave may be unmarked with storied urn 
or monumental marble, and nought but the rude winds sound 
your requiem-dirge, as they moan through the tall grass that 
waves above you, the cheering light of your meritorious labors 
will shed a rich halo over your last moments ; — and when the 
laurels of the conquerors shall have faded, and the deeds of the 
renowned are forgotten, your work of love and kindness will be 
green in the memory of the just and treasured in the hearts of 
the good. 



THE CONVICT 



BY MISS ALICE CAREY. 



The first of the September eves 
Sunk its red basement in the sea, 

And like swart reapers bearing sheaves 
Dim shadows thronged immensity. 



Then from his ancient kingdom, night 
Wooing the tender twilight came, 

And from her tent of soft blue light, 
Bore her away, a bride of flame. 

Pushing away her golden hair, 

And listening to the Autumn's tread, 

Along the hill-tops, bleak and bare, 
Went Summer, burying her dead. 

The frolic winds, out-laughing loud, 
Played with the thistle's silver beard, 

And drifting seaward like a cloud, 
Slowly the wild-birds disappeared. 



THE CONVICT. 19 

Upon a hill with mosses brown, 

Beneath the blue roof of the sky, 
As the dim day went sadly down, 

Stood all the friend I had, and I. 

Watching the sea-mist of the strand, 
Wave to and fro in evening's breath, 

Like the pale gleaming of the hand, 
That beckons from the shore of death. 

Talking of days of goodness flown — 
Of sorrow's great o'erwhelming waves; 

Of friends whom we had loved and known, 
Now sleeping in their voiceless graves. 

And as our thoughts o'erswept the past, 
Like stars that through the darkness move, 

Our hearts grew softer, and at last 
We talked of friendship, talked of love. 

Then, as the long and level reach 

Back to our homestead old we trod, 
We pledged to each, be true to each, 

True to our fellows, true to God. 

Forth to life's conflict and its care, 

Doomed wert thou, my friend, to go, 

Leaving me only hope and prayer 
To shelter my poor heart from wo. 



20 THE CONVICT. 

" A little year, and we shall meet," 
Still at my heart that whisper thrills — 

The spring-shower is not half so sweet, 
Covering with violets all the hills. 

Dimly the days sped, one by one, 

Slowly the weeks and months went round, 

Until again September's sun 

Lighted the hill with moss embrowned. 

That night we met, my friend and I, 
Not as. the last year saw us part, 

He as a convict doomed to die, 
I with a bleeding, breaking heart. 

Not in our homestead, low and old, 
Nor under evening's roof of stars, 

But where the earth was damp and cold, 
And the light struggled through the bars. 

Others might mock him, or disown 

With lying tongue, my place was there, 

And as I bore him to the throne 
Upon the pleading arms of prayer; 

He told me how Temptation's hand 
Prest the red wine-cup to his lips, 

Leaving him powerless to withstand 
As the storm leaves the sinking ship. 



THE CONVICT. 21 

And how all blind to evil then, 

Down from the way of life he trod, 
Sinning against his fellow-men — 

Reviling the dear name of God. 

At morn he met a traitor's doom, 

I living on from hope apart, 
To plant the flowers about his tomb 

That cannot blossom in my heart. 



STORY OF THE BOTTLE. 

BY S. F. CARY, M. W. P 

In the progress of the Temperance Reformation many scenes 
have transpired, which are eminently worthy of a permanent 
record. The history of this reform, if its details could be writ- 
ten, would furnish a richer fund of incident than all the works 
of fiction ever published. The many wonderful revolutions 
wrought in the family circle, the sudden changes from unmingled 
wretchedness to unalloyed happiness, from death to life, from 
the bondage of sin, to the liberty of the sons of God, would 
fill volumes. The cerements of the tomb have been unsealed 
and intemperance has given up the dead. 

- Who has not seen the poor inebriate trembling upon the giddy 
verge of a drunkard's hell, taken from his perilous condition, 
his feet planted on the rock of ages, and a new song put into 
his mouth — even praise to God. 

The writer has witnessed many scenes that would have awak 
ened in the most unfeeling bosom, undying sympathies for this 
Heaven-sent reform. The evidences that God is its author and 
friend are numerous and convincing. Nothing but that spirit 
that called Lazarus from the tomb, could re-animate the whis 
ky-rotted carcass of an outcast drunkard. Man may "roll 
away the stone " but divine energy must call the dead to life. 






STORY OF THE BOTTLE. 23 

The incident the writer imperfectly attempts to sketch, occur- 
red in one of the cities of the West, during that period when 
the whole community were excited by the Washingtonian 
movement ; a movement which arrested thousands, and tens of 
thousands^ who were on their way to the second death, who are 
now ripening for glory, honor, immortality, and eternal life ; a 
movement which has filled many desolate homes and hearts 
with thanksgiving and the voice of melody. 

For nearly a week I had been laboring day and night in the 
place referred to, the houses were crowded to overflowing, and 
near two thousand had taken the pledge. The lifting up the 
" brazen serpent in the wilderness " in the days of old, was not 
more potent to heal those who had been bitten, than was the 
pledge on this occasion to extract the scorpion's sting. 

" The blind received their sight, the lame walked, the lepers 
were cleansed." It was indeed a Pentecostal season. 

Our last appointment was at eight o'clock in the morning, 
and the interest continuing unabated, at that early hour the 
spacious sanctuary was filled. I had been speaking but a few 
moments when I observed a poor drunkard seated on the thres- 
hold of the door near the place I occupied. Doubtless for the 
first time in many long years, he had approached the Lord's 
house. He had been worshipping at a different shrine. His 
bloated face, bloodshed eyes, trembling limbs and ragged gar- 
ments, attested how faithfully he had served the God of his 
idolatry, and how his devotions had been rewarded. These out- 
ward exhibitions were but the signals of distress hung out by 
the soul, the evidences of the utter desolation of the inner man. 
Like others who have faithfully served the same cruel and inex- 
orable tyrant, he had suffered persecutions, stripes and imprison- 
ments, his name was cast out as evil, and his family and friends 
were filled with loathing and disgust at his presence. All hope 



24 STORY OF THE BOTTLE. 

of his renouncing his allegiance had long since fled. The poor- 
house, the prison, and the more cheerless hovel, had been alter- 
nately his abiding place. He had drank the cup of bitterness 
to its very dregs ; there was nothing left to him of life but the 
power to suffer, and he had experienced all of death but the 
quiet of the grave. Such was the wreck of what once was the 
image of God, now marred and defaced, that had found his way 
to the door-stone of the sanctuary. 

A little boy occupying a position near the inebriated wretch, 
discovered protruding from the pocket of his tattered coat, a 
small green flask partly filled with whisky. The roguish little 
fellow watching his opportunity, slyly possessed himself of the 
bottle and placed it in the pulpit. I held it up before the audi- 
ence, and inquired who was benefited by the manufacture or 
trafhc of the accursed poison ! 

They all recognized the owner of the bottle without knowing 
how it had found its way into the pulpit. The people were 
told that they were iri partnership in the trade of making pau- 
pers, lunatics, and criminals ; that a portion of the profits derived 
from the sale of that pint of whisky was in the city treasury ; 
that men were authorized for the " public good" to fill the 
bottles and the stomachs of drunkards, and convert the earth 
into a lazar house and a prison. 

While thus pursuing my remarks the owner missed his trea- 
sure, and lifting his maudlin eyes recognized it in my hand. 
However worthless, it was to him a priceless treasure — for its 
burning and consuming fires he had sacrificed health, strength, 
character and reputation, and alienated himself from wife and 
friends, from country and God. Without hesitation or delay 
raising himself up, he staggered into the house and took his 
position before me. Pointing to the bible, he said : " That book 
declares you must render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's — 



STORY OF THE BOTTLE. 25 

give me my bottle." Instantly handing him his bottle, I re- 
plied — I suppose I must render unto Ceesar that which is Caesar's, 
but I beg you to break that bottle, that you may " render unto 
God the things that are God's. 

The appropriateness of his quotation from scripture, the ludi- 
crousness of its application, added to his wretched appearance, 
called forth a sudden burst of laughter. When I quoted the 
remainder of the passage, accompanied with the appeal, the 
change in the emotions of the audience was painfully sudden. 
In an instant silence reigned, the very throbbings of the heart 
could almost be heard. I continued the appeal to the wreck of 
a man before me, hoping that some cord had partially escaped 
the consuming fire which might be made to vibrate. His own 
happiness, his relations to his friends, his country and his God 
were all presented. His half drowned memory was invoked to 
call up the recollection of happier years, and the cheering hopes 
and bright prospects which were his in better days. What had 
blasted those hopes, what had cast a shadow over those pros- 
pects? What was bowing that manly form, tearing his heart 
and burning his brain 1 What had rendered him an alien and 
an outcast ? Was it not the demon, personified in the bottle he 
held in his trembling hand ? Was he not charmed by a serpent 
whose sting was death, and whose poison was wrankling in his 
veins, and consuming his very vitals'? 

He listened, and gave evidence that waning reason though 
weak, was struggling with giant appetite, and who should get 
the victory was becoming a momentous question — a question of 
life and death. I bid him resolve, tendered him the right hand 
of fellowship, and the sympathies of the good and virtuous ; 
assured him that others had broken the tyrant's chain — that he 
was a man and brother, and had only " fallen in the way we 
had in weakness trod" — That his horizon now enveloped in 



26' STORY OF THE BOTTLE. 

darkness might again be bright and joyous, and instead of wan- 
dering up and down in the earth, seeking rest and finding none, 
the heavens above him as brass, and the earth beneath his feet 
as iron, he might find a happy home, and thrice happy friends — 

" For him again the blazing hearth may burn, 
And busy housewife ply her evening care, 
The children run to lisp their sire's return 
And climb his knees the envied kiss to share." 

I showed him the path of life, happiness and salvation. While 
I thus addressed him, the whole audience looked on with breath- 
less anxiety, to witness the result of the conflict. At length his 
fingers seemed one by one, to be fastening as with the grasp 
of death upon his bottle, and with a force almost superhuman, 
he dashed it to atoms upon the floor and was free ! 

The audience breathed again, and their feelings so long pent 
up, and accumulating strength at every succeeding moment, 
broke forth like an avalanche. Shoutings and tears were ming- 
led — for " the lost was found," " the dead was alive again." 
This triumph of resolution over appetite, and the whole chain 
of circumstances leading to this happy result, created feelings 
that could not be restrained, and all were deeply moved. 

About four years subsequent to this occurrence, it was my 
fortune to visit the same city, and again addressed the people on 
the same fruitful theme. After talking to the multitude some 
two hours they were dismissed. I had descended from the pul 
pit, and was waiting for the crowd to disperse, when a middle 
aged lady, neatly but plainly clad, came down the aisle and 
grasped one of my hands with botfi of her's, her whole frame 
was convulsed by the strength of her emotions, but she was 
speechless. The tears chased each other down the furrows of 
her cheek, made the deeper by misfortune, her lips quivered, 



STORY OF THE BOTTLE. 27 

and at length she stammered out, " God bless you brother Cary ! 
God bless you ! ! — God bless you. That man who broke the 
bottle when you was here before was my husband — he is 
now a member of the Methodist Church with me, and we are 
going home to Heaven together. — Morning and evening, we 
remember you in our prayers — God bless you brother Cary ! — 
God bless you ! " 

The reader cannot imagine my emotions at that moment. I 
would not have exchanged them for those of Wellington after 
the battle of Waterloo, or of any other conqueror of earth. All 
the gold of California laid at my feet would not have afforded 
equal gratification. 

The fawning that wealth commands, the huzzas of the popu- 
lace which greet a political leader — the glory of the warrior's 
sword, may impart a momentary enjoyment — but it is not an 
enjoyment that descends into the great deep of the soul. To 
have a home in the heart of an obscure woman — to be borne on 
the arms of a strong faith before the throne of mercy — -to be 
assured that God has made us the instrument of delivering a 
soul from death, kindling anew the fires of affection, rebuilding 
a broken-down family altar — these are stars in the crown of 
rejoicing that never grow dim — laurels that never fade — riches 
that never perish. 



S. F. CARY, M. W. P. 

(SEE FRONTISPIECE.) 

Samuel Fenton Cary was born in Cincinnati, February 18, 
1814. His father, William Gary, was an early emigrant to the 
north-west territory from the State of Vermont, and shared in 
the perils and privations incident to the first settlement of that, 
then wild country. The subject of this sketch was the youngest 
of three children, and passed his youth on his father's farm in 
the neighborhood of Cincinnati. In 1831 he entered Miami 
University and graduated with a numerous class in 1835, sharing 
the first honors of the Institution. Entering immediately upon 
the study of the law in his native city, he received the degree 
of Bachelor of Laws from the Cincinnati College in -1837, and 
was shortly after admitted to the bar. 

His extensive acquaintance, and devotion to the business of 
his profession, soon secured him a large and lucrative practice. 
Few men in the west have entered upon their professional career 
with more brilliant prospects of success. As an advocate he had 
few rivals. He was very frequently retained in important crim- 
inal cases, and was remarkably successful. 

At an early age his sympathies were warmly enlisted in the 
cause of Temperance, and before he entered upon public life 
he had delivered numerous addresses upon this subject. When 



S. F. CARY, M. W. P. 29 

brought more immediately in contact with the world, and when 
led to inquire into the causes of crime, he was satisfied that a 
thorough change in the social customs was necessary. He had 
daily opportunities of knowing that intemperance was the great 
central vice, the radiating point of all crime. Frequently was 
he called to speak upon the subject of Temperance — and elo- 
quently did he plead the cause of total abstinence — when its 
advocates were few. 

When the Washingtonian Reform began its wonderful career, 
Mr. Cary was one of the first to welcome it, and his own spiritual 
strength being renewed, he labored with unusual earnestness to 
arouse the public mind to the giant evil. His voice was heard, 
not only in his native city and State, but throughout most of the 
western, middle and eastern states. Seeking no reward, but the 
consciousness of doing good, he traveled thousands of miles and 
induced multiplied thousands to sign the pledge. In a tour 
through New England, in 1845, he was listened to by immense 
assemblages of people. A leading eastern journal of that day 
gives the following truthful sketch of his manner of speaking, 
and the impressions made : — 

"Mr. Cary is perhaps, one of the best orators of the age. 
"We understand he was trained in the legal profession; it is suffi- 
ciently evident, whatever the training of his powers may have 
been, that he is a well bred scholar. All who heard him were 
either convinced of the truthfulness of his argument, or if 
already convinced, felt within themselves an awakening of the 
early interests that moved them in the cause. He speaks like a 
Greek — with the simplicity, the cultivated naturalness, the pun- 
gency and unembarrassed force of the ancient orators. Mr. 
Cary's eloquence does not consist in empty words, in which the 
idea is secondary to the language in which it is conveyed, and 
which is an evil too common with our professed scholars who 



30 S. F. CARY, M. W. P. 

speak in public: nor does it consist in intellectual exhibition 
alone ; it seems to have its source in a warm heart, gushing with 
the feelings of the man, and throbbing with the impulses of a 
gospel faith. c I may be suspected of seeking your money,' said 
the speaker, while endeavoring to relieve the prejudices and 
fiavils of such of his hearers as might entertain them, c I ask no 
money — I have money to spend, thank God in this great cause. 5 
The man stands before the people not only as a mighty cham- 
pion of the greatest cause, perhaps of the age, but he is worthy 
of his calling — distinctly set apart from sordid motives, worthy 
of the fellowship of the good, and the lovers of the unhappy 
class whose miseries he pities and whose good he advocates." 

Mr. Cary is near six feet high, thick set, with a large head 
covered with an unusual amount of very black hair, broad chest, 
and short neck. He has a large keen black eye — with a benev- 
olent expression of countenance. When by the current of his 
feelings he is excited, his eye lights up with a burning brilliancy, 
and his whole face, frame and every thing about him, indicate 
with the force of breathing thoughts, and burning words, the 
terrible strength of his own emotion. In 1844 Mr. Cary was, by 
the pressing necessities of the reform, induced to abandon the 
practice of his profession, which was rapidly bringing him wealth 
and distinction, and devote his entire energies to the cause. — 
Though not what the world would call rich, he had a compe- 
tence and was therewith content. From that time forward his la- 
bors have been exceedingly arduous and self-sacrificing. During 
the year 1848 he traveled through seventeen states and Lower 
Canada, and addressed more than 300,000 people. His voice 
has, perhaps, been heard by more persons than any man of his 
age in the Union. Always declining compensation, his expen- 
ditures have been very large. We doubt whether any one in 
this country has made so great personal sacrifices for the cause 



S. F. CARY, M. W. P 31 

of Temperance as Mr. Cary. Feeling the necessity of a more 
thorough organization of the friends of this reform than had 
been presented, he hailed the Institution of the Sons of Tem- 
perance as the one that should give it stability and success. He 
was one of the Charter Members of the first Divisions in the 
west. He was elected G. W. P. of Ohio in 1846, and during 
his official year more than three hundred Divisions were institut- 
ed in that State. He first became a Member of the N. D. at 
Philadelphia in May, 1847. In June, 1848, at Baltimore, he 
was installed as the Official Head of the Order in North Amer- 
ica, for two years. The Journals of the G. D. of Ohio, and of 
the N. D., and his messages to these bodies, show that he is 
devoted to the interests of the Order, only because he regards its 
progress as necessary to the extension and prosperity of the great 
Temperance Reform. 

For several years he edited, gratuitously, the first and most 
prominent Temperance paper in the west. He has also written 
several tracts which have had a very wide circulation. Mr. 
Cary has been quite prominent as a political speaker, but for 
several years has felt that the Temperance Reform should com- 
mand his entire energies, believing that in this way he might 
render his country and his race more essential service. He was 
honored with the appointment of Paymaster General of Ohio 
for the term of four years. 

He was married in 1836, and during the same year connected 
himself with the Presbyterian Church, of which he has since 
been a prominent member. His marriage relation was broken 
by the death of his companion — and, he subsequently married 
again. 

Such is a brief and imperfect sketch of one of the leaders of 
the great Temperance Army. 



BR ANDIOP ATHY; 

O R 

"JUST A LITTLE FOR MEDICINE." 

BY REV. H. D. KITCHEL. 

Pathology should of right be the science of the Pathies, an 
ology concerning itself with all these various systems of medica- 
tion, one-sided and hobbyhorsical, in which the genius of a suf- 
fering and experimenting race is feeling yet, age after age, after 
some Art of Healing. It is a branch of science yet in its in- 
fancy, but promises in some future years of discretion to become 
one of the most comprehensive and rich. Meantime we are 
3^et proving all things, and enduring all things, and inductively 
gathering up the materials for a great conclusion. From all 
these pathies and all this experimenting, we trust there will 
come forth in the end a Theory and Practice of greater breadth 
and perfectness than the world has yet seen. Then shall no 
quackery be, regular or irregular. Then will our grandchildren 
be cured. Let us in these afflicted middle ages rejoice in the 
hope which thus glimmers in the future, and count it a comfort, 
as we perish of our Allopathy or Homoeopathy, Hydropathy, 
Lobeliapathy, and the rest, that at least we are useful subjects , 
dying for the admonition and instruction of generations to come. 









BRANDIOPATHY. 33 

Among these pathies, or one-eyed systems of medication, 
there is one, which, without a name, and under some variety of 
form, has long held a high degree of popularity. It has been 
content without a name. Any pertinent name would have 
proved only a burdensome appendage, provoking considerations 
and suspicions altogether inconvenient. If only it might win 
quiet and general acceptance — if it might silently penetrate all 
prevalent systems of medicine, and reduce them to so many 
agencies of its own — why should it fondly court a name? It 
has been too wise for that — too wise to adopt the attitude of 
belligerent exclusiveness. It has chosen rather to place itself in 
relations of friendly alliance with other systems, and take tribute 
of them all. 

Of the many delusions which Strong Drink has fastened on 
men, one of the most mishievous is found in the persuasion that, 
:n one form of it or another, it is specially adapted to the pre- 
vention or healing of all manner of disease. On this notion it 
has wrought itself essentially into almost the whole materia of 
medicine. It has established itself, well-nigh, as the universal 
solvent, and vehicle, and conservative element in pharmacy. — 
This, indeed, though it gives it a vast advantage, is not the point 
of chief complaint. It has far more dangerous pretentions. It 
has come to be, in the vulgar estimation, the preventive, the 
alleviative, or the cure, of every malady that has a name, and 
of a thousand maladies that have no name, among men. And 
on the broad current of this persuasion the world delights. For 
what disease, what weakness, or ache, or ill, that flesh is heir to, 
is not some form of Alcohol deemed and employed by thousands 
as the sovereignest thing in nature? Gather a jury of nurses 
over the cradle of an ailing infant, or around the sick of what- 
ever age, and listen to their prescriptions, their all-healing con- 
coctions, teas, syrups, infusions — no matter what else, one thing 



34 BRANDIOPATHY. 

has a place in them all, the very soul of them, " Jest a drop o' 

ihe best sort o' real old giniwine ." It is the universal 

sanative. Calomel has not so many uses, nor Sarsaparilla. I 
would rather have a patent on Alcohol as a medicine than on all 
the nostrums extant. It is the medicine of the age. 

Now it is not needful to specify here what of all this is utterly 
delusive and mischievous, and what little may, by possibility 
with great care, have good uses. We are little better than sheer 
infidels, we frankly confess, as to the use or need of Alcohol in 
medicine ; while we are wholly and intensely convinced that 
the vulgar employment of it as a remedial agent is breeding and 
aggravating disease, obstructing the efforts of genuine medical 
skill, and secretly fostering Intemperance, beyond any other 
cause that can be named. 

Brandiopathy — let it have a name ! This is the form of the 
system to which circumstances have of late given special cur- 
rency. For if the Cholera has slain its thousands directly, it 
would be found, if the whole range of causes and influences 
could be compassed, that it has slain its ten thousands by the 
vulgar use of brandy as a preventive and remedy. At the 
rumored approach of that disease, recourse is every where had 
among large classes to the Brandiopathic treatment — and thus 
the way of the pestilence is paved, its victims made ready, its 
work half-wrought to its hand. 

The following narrative may serve to present, in a very limited 
measure, the working of this system. For the comfort of any 
who desire to feel that it is only fiction they are reading, it may 
be proper to state that the following is as ficticious as the facts 
in the case would allow, and we regret, more than they, that it 
is not wholly an idle tale. 

In the summer of 1849, while the Cholera was hovering over 
all our cities, and raging here and there in its fury, we took our 



BRANDIOPATHY. 35 

route toward the upper Lakes, assured that if health had any- 
where a local habitation, its home would be in the cool exhila- 
rating air, and amid the beautiful scenery of these inland seas. 
It was with a feeling of indescribable relief that we exchanged 
the funeral atmosphere of crowded and death-stricken cities, for 
the free breezes that here swept so freshly around us from the 
cool north. There was life in the clear air, and every wave that 
washed our steamer seemed to utter assurances of safety. Here, 
at least, the pestilence has no place. It may riot in the close 
alleys of the town, and claim for its foredoomed victims the chil- 
dren of squalid want and vice — but here, surely, it may not come ! 
We were some three hours out of port from one of those 
thriving cities that are springing into full-grown life along the 
Lakes, but which shall be nameless here, lest this should be 
found "an over true tale." A few cases of the dreaded epi- 
demic had occurred within it, of a dubious and occasional char- 
acter, creating wide alarm, indeed, but threatening real danger 
only to those whose excesses should invite the blow. We were 
just beginning to rest in the fond hope that we had left the 
destroyer behind us, when a sudden commotion was observed 
below, and a hurried inquiry ran along the cabin for any physi- 
cian who might chance to be among the passengers. It was the 
cholera ! The mate was seized with it — was already nearly in- 
sensible. As one, somewhat conversant with the disease, we 
gained admission to the sufferer. An insufferable odor of brandy, 
qualified with laudanum, revealed at once the treatment and the 
obvious cause of the disease. For weeks he had drenched him- 
self with the popular preventive. For weeks he had cured 
himself daily with the same palatable remedy. He had at last 
cured himself into it ! And still as he lay writhing under the 
horrid malady, almost every voice was loudly urging a further 
resort to brandy as the only hope. 



36 BRANDIOPATHY. 

Sickened and protesting in vain against this infatuated course, 
we left the dying man and sought the open air. Already the 
boat was put about, and we were on the return. And now the 
panic was visible in every countenance. Passing the bar, we 
found it thronged with applicants for the grand preventive ! Pre- 
monitory symptoms were spreading, and many were earnestly 
setting forth the virtues of the popular specific. 

All this was not new, for it had been our lot to observe the 
effects of this very method before. Just this we had witnessed 
on a wider scale a little before, when Fear and Drink and the 
Plague stalked abreast through one of our fairest western cities, 
and turned it into a field of graves. There too, from the first, 
brandy had been the reliance. High names in the profession, 
it was said, had recommended it — just a little, in certain cases, 
at certain stages — but, alas ! all limitations, all cautions were for- 
gotten, and brandy, first, midst and last, was the general resort. 
There was at once a visibly increased use of that article among 
all classes. The intemperate welcomed the prescription, and 
sought safety in redoubled excesses. The moderates added a 
little to their little. The occasionalists lapsed into habituals. To 
all these a little was simply a little more. Not a few of the 
abstinents found the current too strong for them, and took just a 
little for their often infirmities. A few stood firm amid the 
phrensy, and won again the reproach of ultraism and illiberality. 

And of all this the consequences were just what might have 
been predicted. For one case benefited, hundreds were injured. 
Aside from all ulterior effects in breeding a depraved and ruinous 
appetite for drink, and in sowing widely the seeds of shame and 
misery to ripen in years to come, the direct and immediate, 
result was to produce derangement and morbid excitement, and 
throw open the door for the very disease they were dreading. 

Among the passengers there was one, who upon the first cas- 



BRANDIOPATHY. 37 

ual notice had attracted our attention. An indefinable some- 
what hung about him which we could not solve. He was one 
of those moral half-breeds in society who have not yet found 
their level , originally of the virtuous, but tending strongly down- 
ward under the dominion of evil appetites. Shabbity genteel, 
still looking up toward some sphere of worth and respect in 
which he had once moved, and yet drawn downward irresisti- 
bly toward his own place, he seemed hovering yet between the 
evil and the good, lost to all but weak wishes and vain regrets. 
Again and again, as he passed, he awoke in us the sentiment of 
a something long since known, but changed and lost. 

This man was found the nearest approach to a physician on 
board, and had figured largely in the scene that had just tran- 
spired. Brandy was the head and front of his practice. Him 
too we had seen practising at the bar, in a style that left no 
room to question his faith in the remedy he prescribed. We 
were little over half-way back to port, when, almost in the same 
breath, the mate was reported as dead, and Dr. Lewis as seized 
with the same disease. 

Lewis ! Aye, that is it, then ! The mystery dissolved in an 
instant at that name. And this was James Lewis ! This was 
the miserable remnant of that noble one ! And now, as he lay 
stretched in stupor before us, his sunken and haggard features 
revealed, far more distinctly than before, the familiar look of the 
early and most intimate friend of my youth. Amid the rigid 
lines now reappeared more clearly what he once had been, as 
the features of the dead often resume the expression of a long- 
past and better time. As yet his history for the last fifteen years 
was a sealed book, save as it told itself in his changed and fallen 
air, and gave assurance that it had been a history of weakness 
and sorrow. 

Plied to her utmost, our boat soon lay at the wharf. The 



38 BRANDIOPATHY. 

insensible man was immediately conveyed to the hospital, and 
the best attendance secured. The application of extreme exci- 
tants finally awoke the remnant of life, and inspired, for a time, 
a hope that he might be saved. 

At an interval of exertion we approached the attending phy- 
sician, and inquired if this were not an unusual aspect of the 
disease 1 

" The case is not uncommon," he replied; " but which of his 
diseases do you refer to ? " 

" The Cholera, of course — what else could this be ? " 

" There is Cholera in it, indeed," was his reply, " and that 
will doubtless decide the business ; but as yet it is the least of his 
diseases. Fright and brandy have ailed him, and his struggle is 
still mainly with these and their effects." 

" Then he can be saved ? " 

" That is very unlikely. He has yet two other enemies to 
contend with. He will pass from this torpor into a state of 
uncontrolable nervous agitation, substantially a delirium tremens 
— and what remains the Cholera will finish. Such cases are of 
frequent occurrence, and leave scarce a ray of hope." 

" But this is not mere intoxication, we continued, anxious to 
gather the views of one who evidently penetrated the whole 
case." 

a Not that merely. The matter is complicated. He was 
alarmed, and in his agitation poured down brandy. This had 
an effect wholly different from that which it commonly pro- 
duces. The sentiment of fear, like any other strong emotion or 
any acute disease, overmastered the stimulus, and disarmed it of 
its intoxicating effect, and turned it into a simple auxiliary. Its 
whole force was spent on the excited nervous system, and drove 
it rapidly through phrensy into exhaustion and stupefaction. 
We shall probably arouse him from this state — though I can 



BRANDIOPATHY. 39 

scarcely justify it to myself to be the instrument of waking him 
to endure the torments of the next hour." 

We led him to speak of the popular preventive. 

"Brandy," said he, "is more fatal among- us than any dis- 
ease. The approach of the Cholera has, in effect, elevated all 
our dram-houses into apothecary shops. Brandy is profusely 
used, and in connection with the panic produces a multitude of 
cases scarcely to be distinguished from Cholera. In other cases 
it breaks down every defence, and throws wide open the door 
for the entrance of that disease. Already fitted by past dissipa- 
tion to be the first victims of the pestilence, the lovers of drink 
fly at once to their enemy for succor. Thousands go thus satu- 
rated with drink, on the verge of mania a potu, and fall an easy 
prey to the choleric influence. They are not exhilarated, not 
inebriated by their draughts — intense nervous excitement super- 
cedes that effect — repeated and augmented doses fail to elevate 
and cheer them, and serve only to push them down the declivity 
of sinking nature into just the condition of this wretched man. 
Violent measures will awake them from this, but only to pass 
them forward into a scene of reactive agony, the more intense 
for every drop of stimulus in the previous treatment. Delirium 
ensues, the exhausted system falls into the collapse of Cholera, 
and is relieved by death. Did not others require it, I would 
never attempt to recover such cases from the easier death which 
the sinking stage presents." 

The room was now resounding with the shrieks of the sufferer. 
Nature was at length fully aroused, and the reaction was terrible. 
The moment his eye fell on us as we entered, he sprang from 
the grasp of his attendants, and shrieking our name cowered in 
an agony of fright in the corner of his bed. He hid his face 
for a time with every demonstration of terror, then started up 
and struck around him wildly, as if encompassed with unseen 



40 BRANDIOPATHY. 

assailants ; and ever as his eye rested on us, he recoiled again 
as if transfixed at the sight. At intervals he would sink down 
exhausted, and rave in confused mutterings of distress. It was 
plain that he recognized us ; and what to all others was inco- 
herent and unmeaning, to our ear revealed the reminiscences of 
long -past scenes, that were crowding now, at the hint of an old 
familiar look, on his distracted spirit. All scenes of peril and 
fear through which he had ever passed, he was passing through 
again — many in which we had borne a share. Again he fell 
from the cliff we had climbed together in boyhood, and he was 
taken up mangled and senseless. Again we bathed in the 
stream of our native valley, and he was swept out into its cur- 
rent and borne down, to be dragged out at the last moment of 
recoverable life. He shrieked our name again, as in that very 
scene when we strove in vain to reach him as he drifted past. 
At moments of less distraction, the recollections of happier 
scenes seemed floating over his soul, but they lapsed speedily 
into others which we could not recognize, of apparently later 
date and of a more mournful character. 

A few hours after he was borne to the hospital, a care-worn 
and sorrowful woman with her daughter of some sixteen years, 
plainly but neatly clad, approached the scene. They were the 
wife and child of Lewis. Their meeting was full of inexpres- 
sible wo, and plunged the unhappy man into the extreme of 
wild agitation. Collapse soon ensued, and at the end of another 
hour he was dead. 

When all was over, and the smitten wife and daughter had 
recovered from the first gush of grief, we approached and offer- 
ed, as a stranger, the sympathy and aid which they evidently 
needed. The changes of fifteen eventful years had effectually 
veiled us from their recollection ; and it was only by rare and 
shadowy traces that we could recall, in the faded form before 



BRANDIOPATHY. 41 

us, the gay and beautiful Eleanor Williams, who eighteen years 
before became the bride of James Lewis. We forbore to add to 
her distress by revealing, as yet, that one who had known her 
in better days was now a witness of her fallen and desolate 
state. It was evident that extreme want had become familiar 
to the family ; and we shuddered to think by what bitter steps 
the descent had been effected from what they once were, to 
what now appeared. 

Hastily and with little observance, the body of our early 
friend was laid to rest in the city burial-place, among the fresh 
mounds that began to attest the work of the pestilence. At our 
pressing instance some decent rites were not omitted ; a prayer 
was breathed over the decently coffined dead, and the broken- 
hearted wife rejoiced in the plain marble which might serve 
hereafter to guide her to her husband's grave. 

When all was done, we easily gained permission to serve 
them still further. Their residence was nearly seven miles out 
from the city, in a thinly populated district, still wearing the air 
of a new settlement. The first generation of rude log-built 
dwellings had not passed away. It was one of the most fertile 
spots on earth, and yet poverty and decay were written on every 
door. Narrow patches of wheat were here and there already 
nodding their yellow heads heavily in the breeze, attesting what 
the hand of diligence might have won from so willing a soil. 

To one of the least inviting of these miserable abodes we 
accompanied Eleanor Lewis and her only child. As we bent 
beneath the low entrance, and read at a glance the utter desti- 
tution of the whole scene within, our thoughts turned back 
involuntarily to the home that was once hers, in rural wealth, 
and peace, and love, on one of the sweetest hill-sides of New- 
England. She sunk on the fragment of a chair, and the full 
tide of anguish seemed now for the first time to roll over her 



42 BRANDIOPATHY. 

soul. Mother and child wept in unrestrained agony of wo. 
Believing the time had come, when the recognition of an early 
friend would prove a solace, or at least serve to divert a sorrow 
that was too crushing to be endured, we ventured to pronounce 
her maiden name. She started, as if the voice of the dead had 
fallen on her ear. Something too in the tone had stirred the 
slumbering memory, and as she gazed on us she seemed as one 
struggling, bewildered through mists and darkness back toward 
the dim light of other days. Through the tangled maze of 
present grief, and through long sad years of suffering, she ap- 
peared to trace her way painfully back to the far past, to the 
scenes and the days when that name was familiar. The mys- 
tery at length cleared away, and the full light of recognition 
beamed in her eye. 

It was with a painful interest that we gathered up from one 
source and another, the history of this family. We lay it before 
our readers as the history of one, the discovered mystery of ruin 
in one small circle. It is the history of many. All through the 
West, in city and in country, such instances abound. In high 
places and low, through all classes of western society, may be 
found those who once stood with the foremost in their profession 
and practice of temperance, now heartless, recreant, lightly 
toying with principles they once held dear, many of them ridi- 
culing and denouncing the whole theory of abstinence as vain 
and impracticable. Under ten degress of more Puritanic skies 
they once shone in the ranks of the pledged and faithful. While 
many of these still retain some damaged relics of their former 
convictions and practice, others, scattered through the forests 
and over the prairies, and struggling with the difficulties and 
diseases of a new home, have fallen utterly and forever. And 
if a considerate search were made into the notions and influences 
that have led to this result, one of the chief would be found in 



BRANDIOPATHY. 43 

the so common use, and insidious effect of alcoholic medicines. 
They are, to an extent beyond all that has ever been conceived, 
the victims of that popular and seductive delusion, which would 
thrust on every ailing child of Adam, some form of strong drink 
as a remedy of unfailing virtue. 

James Lewis was the model youth of his native town. Sober, 
industrious, enterprizing, few gave such promise of worth in 
maturer years as he. A vein of Yankee omnificence ran 
broadly across his nature, and blending gracefully with his 
weightier qualities marked him for a prevalent and successful 
man. Few stood on so broad a basis of character, or seemed so 
well fortified against temptation. And as he stood forth firmly 
and prominently as a leader of his young associates in the cause 
of temperance, it would have been difficult to imagine that the 
spoiler could ever reach him. 

At an early age he won the heart and hand of Eleanor Wil- 
liams. A few bright and happy years they lingered in the old 
home of their youth. But the story of the West, of its broad 
rich prairies, its ocean wheat-fields and forests of corn, was then 
rife on all tongues, and found a ready reception with young 
Lewis. Soon with wife and child he fell into the current and 
floated westward, leaving the old homestead in more contented 
hands. 

They were soon floating on the canal. Here commenced 
the insidious process of depravation and ultimate ruin. The 
damp, chill night-air — the morning fogs — the unwholesome and 
unpalatable water, as they crept slowly through the long levels 
of central and western New York — what should shield them 
from these pestiferous influences? The remedy was at hand, 
well established — brandy, to be sure — just a little — every tongue 
prescribed it, and clouds of witnesses corroborated its claims from 
personal experience. With as pure intentions as any man ever 



44 BRANDIOPATHY. 

swallowed an unwelcome but needful potion, he swallowed the 
popular all-healing draught. The water was corrected— the 
damp bilious malaria was disarmed — the stomach was fortified — 
daily they found many salvations in brandy. The case became 
still more imperative when they reached Buffalo, that limbo of 
lost New-Englandisms, when so much of Eastern faith and 
practice gets left behind. The raw breezes of the lakes demand- 
ed a continuance of the Brandiopathic regimen. It was sovereign 
for sea-sickness — in short, at every step a recurrence to the pan- 
acea became more indispensable than ever. 

At length this West was reached, and the location achieved. 
With a strong heart he plunged into the forest, and with a com- 
pany of adventurers like himself began the battle. And had 
stern forests been their only foe, the victory had been easy.- — 
Slowly these log-dwellings arose, and patches of corn and plots 
of wheat were springing up around them. But the victory tar- 
ried and was lost. Melancholy agues came, palsying the arm 
and saddening the heart ; and all the billious ills that pioneers 
are heir to observed their order. All these were heavy — but all 
these have yielded to the brave patience of thousands less brave 
than this man. These did not conquer him, but the remedy for 
these ! The poison had taken effect. The remedy was loved, 
and appetite now demanded what custom had made familiar. 
The history need not' be minutely followed. It was one ever- 
recurring struggle with disease too often cured — the deep disease, 
in a word, of morbid thirst, cleaving to its victim, and ever seek- 
ing and finding the occasions for a cure so welcome. And all 
through that settlement the same cause had wrought the same 
desolation. 

The rest is briefly told. In virtue of his native tact and lead- 
ership, Lewis had become the medical adviser and druggist gen- 
eral of the little commonwealth. Of late he had spent much 
of his time in the neighboring city, or vagrantly dispensing his 



BRANDIOPATHY. 45 

bitters and concoctions — a lost man, but faintly protesting- now 
against perdition. The Cholera panic increased his practice and 
finished his career. For months he had been specially fortify- 
ing himself against that malady, even to the verge of delirium ; 
and when we met him, he was fleeing in wild alarm — to what 
issue we have seen. 

In a week the scanty relics of these wasteful and woful years 
were gathered up ; the three little hillocks beneath the solitary 
linden were bathed, for the last time, in tears ; and the wife and 
daughter were on their way to the old New England home. 

To you, reader, these glimpses at the downward career of one 
gifted and safe beyond most, can have but a feeble interest com- 
pared with ours. And yet, if you will look around you, if you 
will search a little beneath the surface, you too may find this 
very process of perdition repeating itself in every essential fea- 
ture. This is but one glance we have shown you into a great 
deep of ruin, concealed, almost unsuspected, into which, one by 
one, a multitude are dropping in silence and mystery from our 
side. We have shown the process in a single instance — a pro- 
cess which has more to do in furnishing the victims of intem- 
perance than any suspect. Here is an influence of a nature so 
secret and subtle as almost to escape suspicion, yet ever at work, 
in the past and now, baffling our efforts, ruining our hopes, 
thrusting back the reformed, ensnaring the unwary, and infect- 
ing whole classes and regions with false notions and a fatal prac- 
tice. The fruits of all this we have long lamented, while the 
process of the mischief has never been sufficiently explored and 
adequately estimated. Let us better consider this. It is not an 
occasional thrust the enemy is making in this sort — it is the 
operation of a well-devised and settled system, old, wide-working 
evasive of all pledges, eluding the decisions of the judgment 
and perverting the conscience, and in the name of health and 
life ministering the worst of diseases, the most terrible of death*. 



THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER. 

AN APOL OG-UE. 

BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. 

There was once a child, a noble and beautiful boy, who, des- 
pising- the pastimes of his companions, found all his pleasure in 
the woods and wilds. The more inaccessible was the mountain 
pass, the better he loved to tread its rugged way : the deeper the 
mountain torrent, the more tempting seemed its cool waters. 
Gentle and docile as a babe in all things else, in this he was not 
to be curbed by the will of others, but would wander for days 
in the deep forest, and heap his bed of dried leaves on the brink 
of the most frightful precipices. 

Wearied and heated, he entered one day into a dark and nar- 
row dell, whose sides were so precipitous and so thickly clothed 
with trees that only at noon-day could the sunshine glitter on 
the threadlike stream which wound its way through the deep 
ravine. The cool freshness of the place, the shadowy twilight 
diffused around, the soft thick turf, which the moisture from the 
hill-side kept as green as a living emerald, all invited him to 
repose. So the boy flung himself beside the rivulet, and resting 
his head on the roots of a gigantic oak was fast sinking into 
slumber, when he was aroused by the faint murmur of music. 
Like a chime of fairy-bells came that sweet, low ringing tones, 



THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER. 47 

so faint, yet so distinct upon his ear. Yet it roused him not 
from his repose ; it chased away the heavy vapors from his 
brain, and brought sweet delicious dreams, but it did not fully 
awake him. His heart seemed melting within him, and a trem- 
ulous and thrilling torpor was fast creeping over his limbs. But 
even while the inarticulate singing of that wonderful melody 
was in his ears, he felt, rather than saw, a marvelous light shin- 
ing before him. The starry-diamond, the wave-lighted emerald, 
the heaven-tinted sapphire, the sunset-hued opal, the shadowless 
chrysolite, and crimson-hearted ruby, all seemed melted and 
blended with that ray which flashed and faded, and again gleam- 
ed gloriously before his half-shut eye. The boy grew faint with 
delight. The music and the shifting splendors of that ray 
seemed to him one and the same. He knew not whether his 
eye beheld those charming bells, or his ear was blessed with that 
rich harmony of colors. Sometimes he struggled faintly to 
arouse himself, and then he ever caught sight of a dimly out- 
lined form, coiled and twisted like the cable of a mighty ship, 
which seemed hiding itself behind that wondrous light. But the 
music would ring out a sweeter peal, the changeful tints of that 
marvelous splendor would flash athwart his sight, until the boy 
sank back again upon his mossy pillow, dazzled and sick with 
beaut)'' and delight. 

Noon came and went — sunset gilded the green earth — night 
flung her shadowy veil over all nature — the quiet stars looked 
down into the deep dark dell where the boy was lying ; yet the 
music paused not, and those wondrous hues were fadeless. For 
him nature had but one voice, and life but one aspect. All was 
beauty and bliss in that deep intoxication of soul and spirit. 

On the morrow an aged man who had gone forth to meditate 
at eventide, found the boy still lying on the soft turf, with his 
head yet resting oh its mossy pillow. But the warm breath 



48 THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER. 

stirred not now those clustering curls, and his glazed eye was 
strained wildly open, as if some brief and terrible agony had 
roused the sleeper in his life's last hour. He was dead — that 
young and gentle boy — he had died in that dream of beauty, 
but upon his lip was a purple spot, and a single drop of blood 
had fallen upon his white bosom. 

Then said the sage, " He hath slept upon the den of the bas- 
ilisk, and it is the queen of the serpents who hath bewildered 
and slain him." 

As he spoke, the flashing of those marvelous tints troubled 
his aged eyes, and a creature of strange beauty, bearing upon 
its head a crown from whence came this wondrous light, reared 
itself from the root of the old tree, while the chiming of those 
mystic bells now came with articulate voice. 

" I slew him not," sang the voice — " I slew not, I breathed a 
dream of beauty into his spirit, and his human nature sank 
beneath its sweetness. I did but kiss his fresh lips, and lo ! his 
soul came forth from its prison house." 

" Child of perdition ! " cried the sage, " the hour cometh when 
thy dazzling crown shall be torn from thy serpent brow, and 
thy voice of music shall be changed into the wail of everlasting 
despair." 

" But till then," sang the sweet and melancholy voice, " till 
that evil time cometh, will men listen to my singing, and look 
upon my beauty, and die in the madness of their dream." 







■ T.Doney 



^ -i^FoMoWoIPc 









DANIEL H. SANDS, P. M. W. P. 

It is now nearly thirty years since Mr. Sands had his attention 
drawn by providential circumstances to the great evil of the 
drinking customs, then almost universally prevalent ; and early 
in 1821, he came to the decision to discountenance by his ex- 
ample the use of ardent spirits, and the practice of offering" it to 
others, he did not then perceive the danger of fermented drinks. 
But he was not long in discovering that the great enemy could 
operate as certainly through wine, ale, cider, &c, as through 
ardent spirits, and he comprehended in his decision, all beverages 
that could intoxicate. 

When the Washingtonian movement commenced, Mr. Sands 
was much impressed with the belief, that not only might the 
sober be preserved from falling, but that drunkards were not 
irrecoverably, and hopelessly lost. He rejoiced in the success 
of the Washingtonians, and was happy to aid them according 
to his means and opportunities. His heart warmed and expand- 
ed with zeal for the extension of the reform, and when, in 1842, 
the organization of the Sons of Temperance took place, Mr. 
Sands was one of the first to enter heartily into it, and was 
chosen the first W. P. of the first Division of the Order. He 
was also the first G. W. P., and the first installed M. W. P. of 
the National Division. 

Mr. Sands is a man of great simplicity and integrity of cha- 
racter, and though quiet and unobtrusive in manner, his influence 
has ever been valuable to the Cause. 

4 



THE RECHABITE'S VISION. 

(Suggested by the SSth Chapter of Jeremiah) 

BY REV. C. B. PARSONS. 

Loud rose the song in "Igdaliah's" hall, 

Where Bacchus crown'd, presided o'er the feast; 

There, "wine and wassail ?' spread their mad'ning thrall, 

And frenzy rolled from king to cowled priest 

As Judah spoke. To " Jaazaniah " speed, 

And bear unto the Rechabitish seer, 

The king's command — no stern denial heed, 

But bid him straight before us here appear. 

That ancient chief who, scorns the " vinal " grace 

And brands the wine-cup, as a guilty thing, 

Shall here abjure his vow before our face, 

And " Jonadab " shall know that we are king. 

Speed thee, slave, speed — while yet the fountains play 

And rich red streams proclaim the king's behest,* 

Quick bring the seer, that on our natal day, — 

But stay, he comes — hail ! thou, of heaven blest. 

* It was not uncommon in ancient days, for kings and nobles on their birth 
days to supply the fountains with wine instead of water. 



THE RECHABITE'S VISION. 51 

Welcome to this, our ancient festal hall, 

Yea, doubly so on this our natal day 

For now, no strife of war, no trumpet-call 

Shall snatch from " Festa," vino's power away. 

Fill high the sparkling bowl — fill full the wine, 

Yea, fill, till flood-like it o'ernow the brim ; 

We drink to Rechab's race, whose vow and mine, 

Be now dissolved in this our pledge to him. 

So bid the minstrels sound their loudest strain, 

And let the revel banish each control, 

" The wine is red ; " come drink and fear no pain, 

Let Rechab's pledge be buried in the bowl. 

Hold ! mighty king ; — 'twas Rechab's clarion voice, 

And instant hushed was every noisy breath, 

" In Jonadab " be still our cherished choice, 

For true " the wine is red ; " — 'tis blood — 'tis death. 

No vow be broken by our humble race, 

No poison streams defile our healthful life, 

No Bach'nal routs our peaceful vales disgrace 

For drunken orgies lead to deadly strife. 

No ! sacred be our ancient holy vow, 

Which still protects, from every fear and dread, 

And stamps on each glad hour from past till now, 

" Look not upon the wine-cup, when 'tis red." * 

From God himself the fearful warning rings, 

That "they have wo" who tarry at the wine, 

The serpent's bite, and fatal adder's sting 

Are in the cup, — the counsel is divine. 

Hast thou forgot the Persian and his fate, — 

The hand and writing on the garnished wall] 

* Proverbs, chap, xxiii. 



52 THE RECHABITE'S VISION. 

The death of Empire and the wreck of State, 

Swallowed and lost in wretched " Bela's " fall ? 

What was there, stronger than his brazen gate, 

What more powerful than Euphrate's tide? 

Not the " Mede," — no — the wine-cup was the fate, 

The wine-cup slew the monarch in his pride. 

Dost thou not see along the lengthened line 

Where Grecia's hero also yields his breath ! 

" The wine was red," — and e'en the " youth divine," 

" Young Ammon,"f — though a god lies cold in death. 

Vainly now Timotheus strikes the lyre, 

And vainly "Lais," strives her lord to save, 

" Long at the wine," hath set the fatal fire, 

And Phillip's son sinks to a drunkard's grave. 

And canst thou, King ; — of great Josiah's race 

Thus calmly justify the withering ban? 

Dost thou not tremble? — destiny to face, 

And hear the stern reproach, — " thou art the man ! " 

There treason lurks, — there rapine, fraud and death, 

In clust'ring fury madden 'round the bowl; 

There friendship withers, — there the Simoon breath 

Of Zamiel fires — fierce torment the soul. 

'Tis Circe's cup — 'tis Hecate's deadly bane, — 

'Tis well begun; — "the worm that never dies," 

Let Liberty, — nay life itself be ta'en, 

But never said, that Rechab's conduct lies. 

Hear me, David's son, and mark the tale 

Of Rechab's sojourn in thy mountain dell, 

He came no pauper, fortune to bewail, 

But clad in steel, thy foemen to repel. 

* Alexander in his madness, claimed to be the son of Jupiter Ammon. 



THE RECHABITE'S VISION. 53 

When Syrian Cohorts crossed the Jordan's wave, 

And shuddering, seized on peaceful Salem's throne, 

Then Rechab came, — to strive, — to fight, — to save, 

His valor thine ; — his vow to God alone. 

And wouldst thou now corrupt old Rechab 's name 

And brand the falsehood on his aged brow; 

To be like Sampson, — cruel sport and shame 

For " weird " wantons ; — these around us now 1 

No; e'er that Pledge which our great father gave 

Shall be dishonor'd in his distant son, 

We'll court the cold embraces of the grave, 

And end in virtue, as we first begun. — 

But hear king, what God has deign'd to show; 

The veil is lifted off the weight of years, 

And triumph gleams with gratulation's glow, — 

The fire-stream dies and sober joy appears. 

As in my tent I sat on yester-e'en 

And mused and mourned o'er this, thy wicked day, 

A vision rose, upon whose face were seen, 

Things which shall be, though yet they're far away. 

A city shone, — bright, — mark monarch great, 

'Twas not our Sodom, — neither yet Gomorrah, 

But clearly there I saw the drunkard's fate ; — 

The spirit glar'd, and told of gloomy sorrow. — 

And yet it was not all so dark and drear, 

For hope was smiling there, — was glad, — serene ; 

The "Lion of the Isles" in mad career 

Had met his fate ; — the Eagle swept the scene. 

The wind was wing'd with stripes, and stars revolv'd 

With billowy splendor, in a sea of blue ; 

They told of " Union " ne'er to be dissolved 

While honor lived, or God — or heav'n was true. 



54 THE RECHABITE'S VISION. 

'Twas a new land, where glory brightly beamed, — 
Where Freedom, regal sat, — and slaves were none, 
High amid the glory, glittering, seemed, — 
A name. I read that name ; — 'twas Washington. 
. The vision pass'd, when lo another sight; 
Midst teeming thousands, — borne aloft in air, 
Was Rechab's Vow, adorned in spotless white, 
The chorus swelled, and honor glistened there. 
And now as " snow flakes " resting on the night 
Or orient pearl in swarthy Ethiop's ear, 
Those collar'd hosts of love, — all glorious, bright 
As bands of angels show, in their career. 
When Moses smote, in desert land the rock 
And Israel's crime was in the flood forgiven, 
A single fountain answered to the shock, 
But now they're many as the stars of heaven. 
The Sons of Temperance, each a living spring 
Of moral power; — I see them in the strife, 
They drive the foe, — they seek, — they save and bring, 
The poor — the withered heart, again to life. 
Hail holy throng, inspirited with " Love," 
Be " Purity " thy watch ward and thy guard, 
While " Fidelity," peerless from above 
Leads to crowning victory and reward. 

.At. 4> jB, su At* At* <afc 

•«* •«• -n* *rc* *Jv* TT •»* 

Like statues all, sat " Festa's " guests around ; 
The wine untasted on the crimson board. 
A charm had fix'd them spell-bound to the ground, 
'Twas Israel's hope of ancient faith restor'd, 
For God had bade the Rechabite to stand 
Example of what Israel should have been, 



THE RECHABITE'S VISION. 55 

To lift the voice of warning in the land, 

And bid them flee from wine and shame and sin. — 



The music ceased, — the rout, — the revel done 
Both king and courtier stole them swift away, 
And left the champion seer, enwrapt, alone, 
The friend of cause, — the conq'ror of the day. 
* Far in Islam's land, lives his spirit-still, 
For Rechab's vow is holy prophets faith, 
There Moslems fierce, the word of God fulfil, 
"Look not upon the wine," 'tis red with death. 

* Beni Khaibir asserts that the Kechabites exist to this day, as a distinct 
tribe, and bearing the name of Jonadab their great ancestor, — among the 
Arabians of the desert. And that they rigidly observe their ancient vow 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 

BY E. C DELAVAN, ESQ. 

During the many years my attention has been directed to the 
subject of Temperance, a great variety of facts have come to 
my knowledge from authentic sources, in relation to the adulter- 
ations of strong drink, which I have from time to time published 
and scattered broad-cast throughout the country. I could fill a 
volume with these facts, and yet there still appears to be great 
incredulity on the subject. 

It is my opinion, could the real truth be known, the whole 
community, with the exception of those whose appetite has 
already become depraved by indulgence, would abandon for- 
ever the use of intoxicating drinks. 

Much has been said and written on the subject of pure una- 
dulterated intoxicating wine. Some good men have contended 
that the Bible sanctions the use of such wine as a beverage, 
others have denied that it does so, and have insisted that the 
only wine, the use of which is sanctioned by the Bible as a bev- 
erage, is the juice of the grape as it exists in the cluster, the press, 
and the vat, the unintoxicating wine of the Bible. 

Not now to review this dispute : I wish to call the public 
attention to the consideration of one great truth on which all 
parties appear to have been entirely agreed — to wit : That the 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 57 

Bible does not favor the use of wines in which distilled spirit or 
poisonous drugs have been mixed, against " Those adultera- 
ted FACTITIOUS COMPOUNDS FALSELY CALLED WINES," even the 

advocates of pure fermented intoxicating wine arrayed them- 
selves. Here there is one point on which the friends and oppo- 
sers of total abstinence can unite. Here is common ground, and 
my object in making this communication is to present a few, 
and only a few, of the many facts I have in my possession, going 
to establish the truth, that in this country there is little or none 
of the wine contended for by the opposers of total abstinence ; 
and that the " Wine question," as it has been called, was hardly 
worth discussion in this country, however important such dis- 
cussion might be in wine-producing countries. 

Most if not all of the facts which follow, have been scattered 
through the publications which I have put forth during the last 
twenty years : my object is now to gather from these, and other 
publications, such as appear worthy of republication, and to 
present the same in a condensed form, in the hope that they 
will tend to arouse attention, and induce all classes to aban- 
don a beverage so destructive to mind, body, and estate. 

My attention was first called to wine and spirit adulterations 
in 1833. An acquaintance of my own who was engaged in the 
manufacture of spurious wines, and who, in one year sold thirty 
thousand casks, stated to me, in substance : — That few persons 
who drink wine have any conception what they drink. For 
every gallon of wine imported from abroad, ten or more are 
manufactured at home. Frauds committed in the adultera- 
tion of wine and spirit in the City of New- York alone, amount, 
it is supposed, to at least three millions of dollars annually. A 
cargo of wine arrives in New- York, is at once purchased up, and 
even if factitious, in twenty -four hours its whole character is 
changed. To effect this it is emptied into large vats, and then 



58 ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 

mixed with whisky, cider, sour beer, and drugs. Let the coun- 
try merchant require ever so great a variety of wines, they can 
all be supplied from the same source, and though the real cost 
is only from fifteen to twenty cents per gallon, the same is sold 
from fifty cents to five dollars. The greater part of the wines 
sold in this country, cost the manufacturer only from fifteen to 
twenty cents per gallon. 

Prof. C. A. Lee, of New- York, in 1836, made the following 
statement : — 

" A cheap Madeira is made here by extracting the oils from 
common whisky, and by passing it through carbon. There are 
immense establishments in this city where the whisky is thus 
turned into wine ; in some of those devoted to this branch of 
business, the whisky is rolled in in the evening, but the wine 
goes out in the broad day light ready to defy the closest inspec- 
tion." 

A grocer, after he had abandoned the nefarious traffic in 
adulterations, assured me that he had often purchased whisky 
one day of a country merchant, and before he left town, sold 
the same whisky back to him, turned into wine, at a profit of 
from 4 to 500 per cent. 

Prof. Lee further states, that " The trade in empty wine casks 
in this city, with the custom house mark and certificate, is im- 
mense ; the same casks being replenished again and again, and 
always accompanied by that infallible test of genuineness, the 
custom house certificate. I have heard of a pipe being sold for 
twelve dollars. There is in the neighborhood of New- York an 
extensive manufactory of wine casks, which are made so closely 
to imitate the foreign as to deceive experienced dealers — the cus- 
tom house marks are easily counterfeited, and certificates are 
never wanting." 

" I have heard," said Dr. Lee, " dealers relate instances in 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 59 

which extensive stores have been rilled with these artificial 
wines — and when merchants from the country have asked for 
genuine wines these have been sold them as such, assuring them 
there could be no doubt of their purity." 

M. P. Orfilla on Poisons, page 198, says, " Wines are adulter- 
ated by various substances, the object is to mask defects, to give 
color or strength." Page 199, " Wines adulterated by lead, 
sugar of lead, and still more frequently litharge, are mixed with 
acid or sharp tasted wines, and in order to render them less so, 
and these substances do in fact give them a sweet taste. Of all 
the frauds this is the most dangerous." The effect of sugar of 
lead is described page 74 and 75. 

Accum on Culinary Poisons — Phil., page 74, says, " It is 
sufficiently evident that few of the commodities which are the 
object of commerce are adulterated to a greater extent than wine. 
A mixture of spoiled foreign and home-made wines are convert- 
ed into the wretched compound frequently sold under the name 
of genuine Old Port.'''' 

Extract from the Domestic Chemist — London, 1831, page 14, 
" Many kinds of liquors are frequently adulterated by the addi- 
tion of sugar of lead." 

At one time it was a common practice to adulterate wine with 
lead, in Paris. 

Dr. Warren — Medical Trans., vol. ii. p. 80, states an instance 
of twenty persons having become severely ill in Paris after 
drinking white wine that had been adulterated with lead. One 
of them died and one became paralytic. 

It is now a well ascertained fact that no wine can cross the 
Atlantic without spoiling, in its natural state, it must be enforced 
by drugs or ardent spirit. 

A friend of mine ordered some wine from Madeira with the 
positive injunction that no ardent spirit should be put in the 



60 ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 

wine. The wine came but as strong- as ever — the question was 
asked of the shipper — did you comply with my order ? The 
answer came — " We complied with the letter but not with the 
spirit of your order : we put no ardent spirit in the wine, but 
we put the wine into the ardent spirit, had we not made the 
addition the wine would have spoiled before reaching you." 

A friend purchased, in New-York, a bottle of what was called 
genuine Champaigne of the importers, and found it to contain 
one quarter of an ounce of sugar of lead. 

The Rev. Dr. Baird informed me that he had been assured 
while visiting and residing with the proprietors of Vineyards, in 
France, that little or no wine was drank in that country or ship- 
ped from it in a pure state. The dealers purchased it in a pure 
state at the Vineyards, but in their hands its character was en- 
tirely changed, either by being enforced by distilled spirits or 
drugged. 

Horatio Greenough, our distinguished countryman and emi 
nent Sculptor, wrote me from Florence, Italy, — " Though the 
pure juice of the grape can be furnished for one cent a bottle, 
you who have studdied the matter know very well that the 
retailers choose to gain a fraction of profit by the admission of 
water or drugs." And he remarks, — " How far the destructive- 
influence of wine as here used is to be ascribed to the grape, and 
how far it is augmented and aggravated by poisonous adultera- 
tions it would be difficult to say." 

In the year 1812, Dr. Henderson shows from the Custom 
House Books of Oporto, (whence the term Port) that while 2512 
pipes and 162 hogsheads of Port Wine were received in Lon- 
don from the Island Guernsey, only 135 pipes and 20 hogsheads 
were shipped from Oporto to that Island. Again, during the 
years 1826, '27 and '28, 210 pipes were exported to the Chan- 
nel Islands ; during the same period 467 pipes were exported 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 61 

from these Islands to London as Port Wine. In the five follow- 
ing years, from 1829 to 1833, not one pipe was exported to the 
Channel Islands from Oporto, j^et some ingenious merchants 
managed notwithstanding to export to London, fifteen hundred 
and fifteen pipes of Port Wine ! 

But how could this be accomplished'? " The Wine Guile," 
published for the convenience of wine brewers and wine doctors 
tell us. 

" Recipe for making Port Wine. Take of good cider 4 gills ; 
of red beets 2 quarts ; brandy 2 quarts ; logwood 4 ounces ; rhat- 
any root bruised, half a pound. First infuse the logwood and 
rhatany root in brandy and a gallon of cider for one week, then 
strain off the liquor and mix the other ingredients, keep it in 
a cask for a month, when it will be fit to bottle." 

An important instance of Port Wine making was brought to 
light in Birmingham, England, on the 24th August, 1842, 
where one Adolphus Blumenthall, wine and spirit merchant, 
was summoned before the Magistrate for pretending to sell to 
W. H. Bond a Pipe of Port Wine, and obtained from the same 
W. H. Bond £d7 sterling, (about §250,) when in truth and in 
fact he did not sell to W. H. B. any Port Wine at all, but a cer- 
tain deleterious mixture of cider and other ingredients, not con- 
sisting of Port Wine, with intent to cheat and defraud the said 
W. H. B. of his money. In the invoice sent with the wine it 
was stated "A pipe of fine Port Wine." And in a note accom- 
panying it, that it was of "good quality, and I hope will insure 
your further orders." 

The said Adolphus Blumenthall was convicted of this case, 
and numerous other instances of the like fraud. 

A friend calling one day upon an innkeeper, in Croydon 
England, was received b}^ the host with his sleeves tucked up, 
and both his arms of sanguineous hue. Upon inquiring the 



62 ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS- 

cause of such appearance, he answered privately, that there was 
to be a great dinner of all the volunteer corps of the neighbor- 
hood the following day, and that he was then brewing the Port 
Wine. 

There is no kind of wine but what can be imitated by the 
wine brewer. 

George IV. had a wine he greatly prized, and so did his 
servants, and they drank it freely. On a particular occasion he 
ordered this wine to be supplied to his guests, but there was but 
one bottle left, one of his household understood the practices of 
the wine fabricators, the remaining bottle was sent to the wine 
brewer, and he the next day furnished his Majesty's table with 
a full stock of the same, as to flavor, &c, &c. The deception 
was not discovered by his Majesty. 

The laws of the State are severe on frauds committed by 
adulterating strong drink,* every dealer should refer to them. 

To show the great strength of liquors sold as wine in this 

* Art. 11, Title 2, Chap. XVII. Part I. Revised Statutes of 
New- York. 

Sec. 193. Every person who shall adulterate any distilled spirits, or spirits in a 
state of distillation, with any poisonous or unhealthy substances, and 
every person who shall sell such spirits, knowing them to be so adul- 
terated, shall be guilty of a misdemeanor punishable by fine or impris- 
onment, or both, in the discretion of the Court by which he shall be 
tried ; the fine in no case to exceed one thousand dollars, nor the im- 
prisonment the term of four years. 

Sec. 194. Every person who shall fraudulently put any thing whatever into 
any cask of distilled spirits branded by an Inspector, for the purpose 
of attesting the real or apparent proof, or the bead or nature of the 
spirits contained therein ; and every person who, without first obliterat- 
ing the marks of the Inspector, shall put in any such cask, after the 
same shall have been emptied, in whole or in part, of the spirits con- 
tained therein when inspected, any other spirits or spirituous liquors 
whatever; and every person who shall sell, or in any manner dispose 
of any such cask, when emptied, without effacing the marks of the 
Inspector, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, punishable by 
fine or imprisonment. 

country, over liquors sold as such on the continent of Europe, in 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS 63 

a letter on the subject, J. Fennimore Cooper remarks, " Five 
and twenty years since when I first visited Europe, I was aston- 
ished to see wine drank in tumblers. I did not at first under- 
stand that the half of what I had been drinking was brandy 
under the name of wine." 

A Chemist of known character in New-York, obtained four 
samples of wine advertised by the importer, as pure unadultera- 
ted wine ; a kind of wine which could not have contained over 
15 to 20 per cent, of the strength of spirit if free from foreign 
ingredients. It was found to be over 37 per cent, of proof spirit. 
Of course its strength was increased over 100 per cent, by the 
introduction of the offspring of the distillery. 

Dr. Lewis Beck devoted much time to the examination of my 
stock of wine, about the time I abandoned its use. 

My Port which was as imported was found to contain 42 per 
cent, of the strength of brandy, and my Madeira 48 per cent. 

The above tests were only to ascertain the proprotion of spirit, 
not to detect drugs. The two samples examined by Dr. Beck 
were imported wine, or said to be. The Port cost $4 the gallon, 
the Madeira about the same. 

When Dr. Hewitt visited France, he was surprised to see so 
much drunkenness on what he supposed the pure fruit of the 
vine. Perhaps he was not aware of the extent of adulterations 
in wine countries — and the adding of poisons even more destruc- 
tive to health and life than Alcohol. 

" The common people," he remarks, " in France are burnt up 
with wine, and look exactly like the cider and brandy drinkers 
of Connecticut." 

Louis Phillipe assured me " That the drunkenness of France 
was on wine." 

His son, the late Duke of Orleans, stated to me that it would 
be a great benefit to France, could the grape be used only as 



64 ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 

food, for in the wine districts were to be found the greatest 
amount of destitution and insubordination. 

Lord Action, Supreme Judge of Rome, (now Cardinal Action) 
assured me that nearly all the crime of the city could be traced 
to the excessive use of wine. 

I once urged a respectable grocer to give up the spirit part of 
his business, he replied, " Let me sell a bill of $1000 to a coun- 
try merchant, tea, sugar, coffee, &c, &c, to the amount of 
$800, and strong drink to the amount of $200 ; on the $800 I 
should not make enough to pay for the salt in my porridge, 
while on the $200 I would make enough to render the whole 
sale of $1000 an excellent one." 

This fact clearly indicates how difficult it is for the grocers, 
not selling strong drinks, to compete with those that do, also the 
enormous profits made on factitious liquors. 

I know a large dealer who having obtained the recipes for 
making all kinds of fraudulent liquors, brandy, gin, rum and 
wine, went to work on a large scale and was making a fortune 
rapidly. He was so elated at his success that he mentioned it to 
his family Physician and showed him his various recipes. The 
Physician, after examining them, informed him that some of the 
ingredients were deadly poisons, and to sell such mixtures to the 
public was as bad as murder. The dealer was alarmed, for he 
had accumulated a large stock ; he came to the conclusion he 
would give a notorious drunkard of the place a gallon or two of 
it, and if it did not kill him he would continue to sell ! The 
poor drunkard had the precious present, he drank it, it was not 
a swift poison, he did not die immediately, the dealer continued 
his wicked traffic, died rich and has gone to his account. 

While traveling in a public conveyance with a gentleman 
whose aid I was anxious to secure for the Temperance cause, 
the adulteration of liquors was discussed. I stated to him that in 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 65 

order to be sure he was drinking pure liquor and not a mixture 
of poisons, he would require a Chemist with his laboratory con- 
stantly in attendance. After giving him a great variety of facts 
on the subject, he replied, " I cannot credit what you say ; you 
have been deceived ; such things could not exist without exposure 
so long : if true or even half true those liquor forgers deserve 
the State Prison ten times more than he who writes another 
man's name, without his knowledge, on the back of a note, for 
the purpose of raising money thereon." Here is Mr. , sit- 
ting beside us, he is an extensive importer of wine, let us appeal 
to him. Is what Mr. Delavan relates true'? "Yes," replied 
our fellow passenger, " all that he says is true." 

And here let me remark, that while the Temperance press, 
as well as the religious and political, have teemed with these 
charges against the liquor trade, to my knowledge there has not 
yet appeared the first denial. 

Some years since a great mass of testimony was brought before 
the British Parliament, to show the practices of the spirit dealers 
in drugging wine, beer, and spirits of all kinds. 

On the premises of one dealer over 2000 pounds of drugs 
were found, to be used in making wine. This man was con- 
victed of the practice and severely punished. 

Says President Nott, in his admirable lectures, " I had a friend 
who had been himself a wine dealer, and having read the start- 
ling statements, some time since made public, in relation to the 
brewing of wines and the adulterations of other liquors gener- 
alty, I inquired of that friend as to the verity of these state- 
ments. His reply was — 

i God forgive what has passed in my own cellar, but 

THE STATEMENTS MADE ARE TRUE, ALL TRUE I ASSURE YOU.' " 

— Page 174, bound vol. 

" That friend," says Doctor Nott, " has since gone to his last 

5 



66 ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 

account, as have doubtless many of those whose days on earth 
were shortened by poisons he dispensed. But I still remember 
and shall long remember both the terms and the tone of that 
laconic answer, " the statements made are true, all true, 

I ASSURE YOU." 

" But not on the evidence of that friend does the evidence of 
these frauds depend. Another friend informed me, that the 
executor of a wine dealer in a city which he named, assured 
him, that in the inventory of articles for the manufacture of 
wine, found in the celler of that dealer, and which amounted to 
many thousands of dollars, there was not one dollar for the 
juice of the grape." 

" And still another friend informed me, that in examining as 
an assignee, the papers of a house in that city which had dealt 
in wine, and which had stopped payment, he found evidence of 
the purchase during the preceding year, of hundreds of casks 
of cider, but none of wine ; and 3^et it was not cider but wine, 
which had been supposed to have been dealt out by that house 
to its confiding customers." — Dr. Nott, pp. 174-175, bound vol. 

A letter from Madeira from an officer in the army states, 
that "but 30,000 barrels of wine was produced in the island, 
and 50,000 claimed to be from thence, drank in America alone." 
—Ibid. 

" In confirmation of this statement, a friend of mine, James 
C. Duane, Esq., (of Schenectady,) informed me that having 
been induced to purchase a cask of Port Wine, by the fact that 
it had just been received direct from Oporto by a house in New- 
York ; in the honor and integrity of which entire confidence 
could be placed, he drew ofT, and bottled, and secured the pre- 
cious contents, to be reserved for the especial use of friends ; 
and that having done so, and having thereafter occassion to 
cause the cask to be sawed in two, he found to his astonishment, 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 67 

that its lees consisted of a large quantity of the shavings of 
logwood, a residuum of alum, and other ingredients, the name 
and nature of which were to him unknown." — Dr. Notth lec- 
tures, page 178. 

The last cask of wine I purchased, and which was tested by 
some of the best judges in the country and pronounced to be 
good wine, I afterwards discovered to have been made in the loft 
of the wine dealer, and did not contain a drop of the fruit of 
the vine, but doctored whisky. 

.Within the past year an individual assured me, that while 
acting as assistant to a wine brewing establishment, he had fre- 
quently seen $100, made on a single cask of liquor sold as wine, 
which did not contain a drop of the juice of the grape, but was 
made from whisky and drugs. 

A dealer in strong drink once residing in Albany, assured me, 
that when he purchased imported liquors in New- York on ship- 
board, he felt no security in receiving the imported article unless 
he watched it from the ship to the Albany vessel himself. A 
large number of pipes of imported brandy were purchased of 
the importer while on the dock, removed the following night, 
the casks emptied, and factitious brandy substituted, the casks 
replaced in their old position before morning, and the whole 
sold at auction the next day as pure imported brandy. 

A dealer once said to me, if you will purchase my stock of 
wine at cost, (which he valued at $5000,) I will give up the 
trade ; I replied, I will purchase every gallon you will warrant 
pure. After some hesitation he answered, " I have not one, it 
is all enforced, else it would not keep." 

Medical men advanced in life have assured me, that the effect 
of using intoxicating liquors now, is much more fatal to health 
and life than thirty years since, then liquors were comparatively 
pure, the alcohol in them was usually the only ingredient that 



68 ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 

the constitution had to contend with, and then a habitual drunk- 
ard, if he lived so long, frequently did not become a known 
drunkard under twenty years, but now it frequently occurred 
that the same amount of habitual drinking produced disease and 
intemperance in three years ; this change, these medical gentle- 
men attribute to the presence of other poisons than the poison 
of alcohol in the intoxicating liquors used by the people in such 
quantities. 

I could fill a volume with facts going to show that as to wine, 
it is next to impossible to find any in this country pure, I mean 
pure fermented unenforced wine, and I believe the same in re- 
gard to distilled spirits. Drugs are used in the manufacture of 
most, if not all kinds, for the reason that with drugs the com- 
monest whisky can be turned into rum, brandy or gin. I have 
been assured, that arsenic is used in whisky to restore the bead, 
after having been diluted with water. So with beer, when 
poisonous drugs are cheaper than hops, to increase the intoxica- 
ting power, and money is to be made by it. This is often done, 
of which I have proof as positive as that the most filthy water 
has been, and still is used in malting and brewing. 

A large druggist in New- York made no secret of the fact, that 
he sold tons of poisonous drugs to brewers, and opened his ledger 
to a friend of mine, and gave him the brewers names who pur- 
chased them in large quantities. 

But I forbear, if a single fellow mortal, now on the highway 
to ruin through the use of the vile compounds above described, 
can be induced to abandon them, and place himself out of the 
reach of danger, I shall be richly compensated for sending you 
this article ; and I cannot but hope that this will be the 
case with many ; now that it is known that these liquors contain 
an element of death ; now that statistics have shown that their 
use shorten human life on an average eleven years ! now that 



ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUORS. 69 

it is proved that the wine in use here is not the pure wine ap- 
proved by the bible, but the mixed wine the bible condemns ; 
now that these things are known, is it to be believed, that wise 
and good men will continue to sustain by their influence, and 
countenance by their example drinking usages, which tend to 
destroy the dearest interests of man in this world, and his eternal 
interest in the next % 

This surely ought not to be — God grant that it may not be. 



NECESSITY OF CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLE, 

IN THE TEMPERANCE REFORMATION. 

BY REV. GEO. B. CHEEVER, D. D. 

The virtue of Temperance, from beginning" to end, is one of 
Christian Principle. The link next before it, according to Peter, 
by which it holds its place in the bright chain of graces, is 
knowledge ; and the link next after it, by which the train runs 
on to perfection, is patience, or perseverance. Temperance and 
patience are the two middle rings, there being three before and 
three after, making eight cardinal graces, that is hinge-graces, 
on which the gate of life hangs and is opened. 

Now we say this is a matter of Christian Principle, and as 
such only can be carried forward, perseveringly and successfully. 
Principle is a persevering thing ; impulse is fitful. There must 
be principle in impulse, as its heart, in order to make it lasting, 
persevering. Impulse in our Temperance Societies, which are 
such an incalculable blessing, can be sustained only by Christian 
Principle ; on that we must build, and continue to build, so far 
as we would make permanent progress. Dissevered from Chris- 
tian Principle, the movement must degenerate and die. This 
great reformation, springing from Christian Principle, is the great 



NECESSITY OF CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLE. 71 

Oriental tree in Malabar, whose branches, too vast for self-sup- 
port, return themselves into the parent earth, and take root, so 
that the daughters grow about the Mother Tree, in Milton's 
language, 

" A pillared shade, 
High over-arched, and echoing walks between," 

And yet all one and the same tree. So this mighty reformation, 
in all its vast movements, all its wondrous spreading growth, must 
return into the same Christian Principle, and take from that, as 
from the parent earth, its continual support; otherwise the 
branches, instead of being a refuge from the heat and a hiding- 
place from the tempest, will trail worthless on the ground, and 
have their foliage wasted by the boar out of the wood, and the 
wild beast of the forest. 

We rejoice, then, to see a christian reaction and return to the 
true source of power in this enterprise. The pledge is a great 
thing, but it must be reinvigorated by Christian Principle, must 
have the heart of its being there. For this movement, as a 
great benevolent movement, needs not only to be set successful- 
ly a going, but it must be continually renewed. It is not like 
the endowing of a hospital or an orphan asylum, which, when 
benevolent men have once established it, and secured its funds, 
and fixed its charter and its laws, will go of itself, will endure 
and prosper, into whatever hands it fall ; there is no such per- 
manent endowment and management of the Temperance Re- 
formation possible, but by the perpetually renewed force of 
Christian Principle. The funds are voluntary offerings, and not 
permanent endowments. The power of the tide of this Refor- 
mation depends upon the ten thousand rills that shall continue 
to flow into it, and those rills themselves come from the dew of 
Heaven. The pledge itself, indeed, is in one sense an endow- 
ment, and makes the enterprise a sort of chartered institution ; 



72 NECESSITY OF CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLE. 

but the charter is one, the continuance of which depends upon 
the virtue of the people, by whom the pledge must perpetually 
be renewed and spread, with a permanent depth and breadth of 
principle. There must be, at the heart of it, as its sustaining 
vitality, its security of life and permanence, the power of Chris- 
tian Principle, as in the Church of Christ ; Temperance linked 
with Perseverance, as the two midway Christian virtues, in 
Peter's chain of eight. 

Men may perhaps enter this Christian chain for the first time, 
as a Christian chain, by taking hold on these golden links. 
Many a man has become a true Christian, by beginning here 
midway at Temperance ; and then, from this point, men may 
go backwards to knowledge and faith, where Peter begins, and 
forwards to godliness, brotherly kindness and charity, where 
Peter ends. But all must be in Christ. Temperance is a good 
thing in itself, but by itself it is not Christianity. It is one of 
the fruits of Christianity, and a man getting hold of this fruit, 
and following it along the branch, to the root, may come to 
Christ. But if he knows nothing but that fruit, it will be gone 
with that season. 

There is another view, also, that may be taken of this pledge, 
in reference to its temporal benefits. It is a policy of life-insu- 
rance for ourselves and our families. Fulfill its conditions, and 
you are positively and unfailingly insured against one of the 
greatest, most dangerous, most destructive pestilences, conflagra- 
tions, and wide- wasting ruins, with which human society ever 
was, or ever will be afflicted. You and your family being enter- 
ed in this policy, you are absolutely secured, if its conditions be 
fulfilled on your part, against the entrance of this plague, against 
the possibility of this ruin. It cannot get in, under any form. 
A thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right 
hand ; but it shall not come nigh thee. Of this terror by night. 



NECESSITY OF CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLE. 73 

and this arrow that fleeth by day, of this pestilence that walketh 
in darkness, and this destruction that wasteth at noon-day, thou 
shalt not be afraid. It shall not touch thee, it shall not come 
nigh thy dwelling. 

Assuredly, this is a great thing. To be insured against the 
horrid vice and calamity of intemperance, were this life alone 
in view, would be, for this life only, an unspeakable blessing. 
But when you look at this pledge, this insurance, through that 
sentence of God's Word, " That no drunkard shall ever inherit 
the kingdom of Heaven," then its value rises infinitely above 
earth, then it is lost in eternity. Every other sin may, possibly, 
be repented of at a very late hour, yea, at the last hour ; but if 
a man dies a drunkard, he dies in the impossibility of repent- 
ance, dies in the life and death of that very sin of drunkenness ; 
he dies in a state which precludes the hope, because it shuts out 
the possibility, of repentance unto life. The Temperance pledge 
may, therefore, in every case, take hold on heaven ; and if it 
be maintained as growing out of that cardinal grace in Peter's 
chain of Christian principles and virtues, it always does take hold 
on heaven. Every man of true Christian Temperance is a fol- 
lower of Christ. 



PHILIP S. WHITE, P.M.W.P 



This distinguished, earnest, and powerful advocate of the 
Temperance Reform, was born in Frankfort, Kentucky, in 1807. 
His father was among- the first of the influential families of Vir- 
ginia, who emigrated to that State, and formed a conspicuous 
part of that bold and vigorous character which gave Kentucky 
an enviable position in the confederacy. By the advice of his 
brother, Joseph M. White, who had just commenced his bril- 
liant career as a Delegate in Congress from Florida, the subject 
of this sketch became a matriculate in the University of Virginia 
in 1824, whence he removed to and entered the University of 
Harvard as a Resident Graduate in 1826. Three years thereaf- 
ter he located in Florida ; and in 1830, with an excellent know- 
ledge of the Spanish language, he visited the Island of Cuba, 
with the view of collecting documentary evidence in the cele- 
brated claim of the heirs of John Forbes to 13,000 acres of 
land. 

On his return to the United States he went to Kentucky and 
finished his legal studies with that eminent Jurist, the present 
Judge Monroe. After participating in the Seminole war, by 
which his health was much impaired, he took a tour through 
Europe with his family, spending nearly four years there, and 
visiting the principal places of interest. In 1839 he was ap- 




VAClUERh" 



MfWA 9E/J jy J, SAP. TAIN. 



P M L \P SnWMBTEpFSWa'WP 



PHILIP S. WHITE, M. W. P. 75 

pointed by Governor Dodge, District Attorney of Wisconsin. 
In 1841 he located in Philadelphia, where he signed the pledge, 
and enlisted for life in the cause of which he has since been so 
distinguished a champion. Associated as he was with those who 
enjoyed the luxuries of life, and who thought there was no 
danger of excess in the indulgence of a good glass of wine, with 
a highly cultivated mind and superior social qualities, it required 
no ordinary degree of moral courage for Mr. White to tear him- 
self away from the convivialities of his associates, and denounce 
the vices of fashionable life. He had seen the youthful and the 
promising fall around him, and he recognized the deadly fangs 
of the serpent which coiled around the wine-cup, and from that 
day forward he struggled against " principalities and powers " to 
arrest the destroyer. 

He was among the first to enter the Order of the Sons of 
Temperance, was the first G. W. P. of Pennsylvania, and the 
second M. W. P. of the National Division. On the occasion of 
the first National Jubilee of the Order in the City of New- York, 
he made a speech in the Park to near 40,000 persons which 
made a deep and lasting impression. 

From the moment Mr. White enlisted in the cause he took a 
firm stand against the traffic. He made arrangements with the 
Pennsylvania State Temperance Society to prosecute all the 
violators of the licence law in Philadelphia in 1842-3, and pre- 
pare for publication all matters that Society might suggest — the 
principal of which were appeals to the Medical Faculty. About 
the same period he published a most thrilling story, " The Ma- 
niac," the scene of which was laid in France, and founded on 
fact, and under his personal observation. Another story entitled 
" The Indian Payment," was extensively published, and several 
other pieces, all illustrating the evils of intemperance. 

At a more recent period he published his work, " The War 



76 PHILIP S. WHITE, M. W. P. 

of 4,000 Years," containing a history of Intemperance and its 
desolating march, and an account of the various Temperance 
organizations from time to time instituted, including the Order 
of the Sons of Temperance. 

For a period of eight years Mr. White has been speaking and 
writing continually in behalf of the Temperance Reform. He 
has made an impression upon his generation, and deservedly 
ranks among the Most Worthy of those, who have given them- 
selves to " The cause of all mankind." 

As a speaker his eloquence draws its life from the heart-felt 
earnestness with which he treats his subject. No man has done 
more for the advancement of the Order of the Sons of Tem- 
perance. From all parts of North America which he has 
visited — from the cold regions of Her Majesty's dominions to 
the far sunny south, the Temperance papers teem with eulogies 
upon him as a man, a philanthropist, and an orator. And 
whether by the side of the veteran John Chambers in the pulpit, 
or the humblest advocate of the reform in the market-place, he 
is the same zealous, earnest, unflinching, delineator of intem- 
perance, as the greatest enemy of God and man. May he long 
live to inspire the public with his noble zeal in this God-like 
cause. 



PROEM. 



BY MISS PHCEBE CAREY. 



Knowing how all who live are bound together 

By the sweet ties of one humanity, 
How all are fellow-pilgrims journeying thither 

Where shines the city of eternity ; 

And seeing that he, to whom no brother lendeth 
A helping hand to bear his weight of ill, 

Oft falters on the pathway which ascendeth 
Up the beautiful summit of life's hill : 

And turns to follow by-paths and forbidden, 
Winding, and winding back from virtue's goal, 

'Till where the sin-cryts of the world lie hidden 
Lost and bewildered walks the human soul ! 

We who have yet with sin maintained resistance, 
And tempted, have not wholly turned aside ; 

Would come with love, with counsel, and assistance, 
To all whose spirits are more sorely tried. 

If there be any, who would turn and perish 

Because no friend has whispered words of cheer, 

Any whom yet no heart has learned to cherish, 
To us their sufferings and their hopes are dear. 



78 PROEM. 

If there be any falt'ring, and no longer 

Equal to life's most toilsome marches found — 

0, lean on us, until your feet grown stronger 
Are firmly planted on a vantage ground. 

And then, forsaken one, who darkly weepest 
Over a lost one gone from virtue's track, 

For thee, even where sin's shafts are sunken deepest, 
We will go fearlessly, and lead him back. 

Yea we will save him, even though the hisses 
Of baffled demons mock us as we come — 

Love's lip is sweeter than the wine-cup's kisses, 
Love's smile is brighter than the wine-cup's foam ! 

And daily thus, to bless our efforts, bringing 

Some soul that turned or might have turned to death, 

We shall go up life's hill together singing 
The sweetly solemn hymns of love and faith. 

And from its summit viewing, but not sadly, 
The peaceful valley where shall end our strife, 

We will walk downward willingly and gladly 
To the last bivouac on the plains of life. 

For, knowing death is but the door of heaven, 
We shall press joyfully to meet the hour; 

Not with locked-step like cringing felons driven 
Under the gateway of their prison tower ! 



THE CIRCEAN CUP 



Y T. S. ARTHUR. 



The leading incidents of the following story were related to 
me by a gentleman whose long continued, consistent and hu- 
mane efforts in the Temperance cause, are worthy of the high- 
est praise. 

In a certain district, (said he,) it became my duty to visit the 
poor, and relieve such as were needy by a distribution of food 
and fuel which a benevolent association had provided. One 
very cold day, while seated in my office, a child not over seven 
years old — a bright-eyed, fair-faced boy — came in, and timidly 
approached my chair. 

" Well my little fellow," said I, speaking in a tone of encour- 
agement, " what is wanted this morning 1 " 

" Does Mr. live here ? " asked the child hesitatingly. 

" Yes, my boy, I am Mr. ." 

His face instantly brightened. 

" Then won't you give us some wood to make a fire, and 
won't you give us something to eat. We've got no fire and 
nothing to eat. Mother sent me." 

" No fire and nothing to eat ! " said I, touched instantly by 
the sad artlessness of the child. 



80 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

" No, sir. And we're all so cold and hungry." 

" Where do you live ? " I inquired. 

" In Baker's Court," replied the child. 

" Your mother sent you? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Who is your mother ? " 

" She's my mother, sir," returned the boy, innocently, after 
hesitating a moment or two, evidently in doubt as to how he 
should answer my question. 

" What is your mother's name, I mean ? " said I. 

" Mrs. Clark," he answered. 

" And you live in Baker's Court? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Do you know the number ? " 

The child did not understand what I meant. 

" How can I find your house ? " I asked. 

" I'll show you the way," he replied quickly. 

" Is your father living ? " I next inquired. 

The little boy looked me earnestly in the face ; and then, 
without replying, let his his eyes fall upon the floor. 

I was about repeating my question, but, thinking that it was 
the common case of a drunken father, I refrained from doing so, 
lest I should cause a blush of shame to mantle the cheek of a 
tender child. 

" I will go with you in a moment," said I, rising and taking 
down my warm overcoat. 

What a light came, instantly, into the face of the little boy ! 

As I drew on my heavy surtout, I could not but notice the thin 
garments of the child, and a shiver passed over me as I thought 
of his encountering the cold biting air of a January morning, 
with the thermometer down to within five degrees of zero. 
Through his reut shoes and ragged stockings were visible, here 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 81 

and there, the red, shining surface of his little feet, and, as he 
moved towards the door I saw that he limped from chilblains. 

u Have you no warmer clothes 1 " said I. 

He shook his head and murmured, " No." 

" You will freeze if you go out as you are." 

" Oh, no sir," he answered : " I didn't feel very cold when 
I came. I ran all the way." 

" Run back, then, as fast as you can," said I. 

" Ain't you coming? " he inquired, a shade of disappointment 
falling upon his face. 

" Oh, yes : I'm going with you. Only do you run to keep 
warm." 

And so, on before me the boy ran, while I walked after with 
long and hurried strides. Right good care did he take never to 
be more than a few paces in advance. On reaching Baker's 
Court, he conducted me to an old brick building, that had for- 
merly been used as a sugar house ; but which had more recently 
been fitted up, roughly, Avith apartments to rent out to poor fam- 
ilies. Along its dirty landings and high, steep stairs, I followed 
the child up to the fourth story, where, in a room partitioned off 
from the main loft, by rough boards, every seam of which was 
open to admit the chilling air, I found a mother with a babe in 
her arms, and a girl younger than the child who had been sent 
for me, hovering over a few dying embers that gave no warmth 
to the surrounding air. They turned towards me with a hopeful, 
pleading look, as I entered. 

" Is it true, madam, that you have neither food nor fuel ? " I 
asked. 

I was answered only by tears. 

Humanity prompted to a speedy relief of the suffering before 
me. It was no time to pause for inquiry beyond this. 

" You shall have both," said I, turning quickly away and 



82 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

going- down stairs. A few blocks distant was a stove-maker, 
who was under contract to furnish a small cheap stove to the 
order of the Society, by which I was authorized to make certain 
distributions to the poor. 

To this person I went, and at my request he immediately sent 
a man with a stove, and fuel enough to kindle a fire. I then 
ordered half a ton of coal to the same direction. After this was 
done, I procured a few articles of food and directed them to be 
taken immediately to the destitute family in the old sugar house. 
I accompanied the porter who carried them, and, taking the bas- 
ket from his hands at the door of the room occupied by Mrs. 
Clark and her children, entered with the relief I had brought. 

The stove was up, a fire kindled, and, already a genial 
warmth was beginning to diffuse itself around. 

" Here is some food ma'am," said I, handing her the basket 
of provisions. "In a short time there will be brought here a 
half ton of coal." 

Her tearful thanks I will not repeat. 

During the short time I remained in the room, I observed this 
woman more closely. She was not over thirty years of age, 
and there were, many traces of beauty on her care-worn face : 
while something in her manner showed the existence of a cer- 
tain degree of refinement and cultivation. Moreover, her face 
had a familiar aspect; but, if I had seen her before, memory 
not did recall the fact. I made few inquiries as to the reason of 
her being in so destitute a condition, but her replies were evasive. 
I asked if her husband were living. She let her eyes rest in 
mine for a few moments. Then they sunk to the floor. But 
she did not answer my question. Promising to call around in a 
few days and see her again, I went away. 

One morning, some three days after this occurrence, I was on 
my way, early, to market. It still remained extremely cold, 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 83 

the thermometer having fallen to within three degrees of zero. 
As I passed Baker's Court, I glanced my eyes down towards 
the old Sugar House, and, as I did so, saw a man come out of the 
building with a stove in his arms. He paused a moment, with 
a hesitating air, as he reached the pavement, looked back, then 
all around, listened, and then came hurriedly out in the direc- 
tion of the main street. His movements awakened my suspicion 
that something was wrong. I was satisfied of this as he drew 
nearer, and I saw that the stove he carried was similar to the 
one I had procured a few days since for the poor woman named 
Clark. The surprise occasioned by this incident was still further 
increased, as I recognized in the tattered, bloated, debased look- 
ing creature, a young man by the name of Clark, who had 
fallen into intemperate habits soon after his marriage with the 
daughter of a man, now dead, an old friend of my father's. 
For a time Clark retained an excellent situation as clerk, in 
which he had been for a number of years, but his departures 
from sobriety became so frequent and hopeless, that his old 
employers were forced to part with him. From that time his 
declension, which appeared to begin with his marriage, was still 
more rapid. For nearly four years I had lost sight of him. 
Now he came before my eyes, so utterly degraded, that few 
traces of what was really human remained visible. I now 
understood, without need of explanation, the meaning of what 
was before me. This was the husband and father of those I had 
a short time before relieved. But, what was he doing with the 
stove ? The moment he saw me, the change in his counte- 
nance betrayed his purpose, for I was recognized. 

" What is the meaning of this, James Clark 1 " said I speak- 
ing sternly. " What are you doing with that stove 1 " 

The poor wretch stammered out something that I did not hear 
distinctly, and seemed overwhelmed with confusion. A moment 



84 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

or two he stood irresolute, and then turning- from me, he went 
back towards the place he had left, staggering under his burden. 
I watched him until I saw him enter the house where he lived. 
I then went on my way, but turned back on reflection, after 
going a block or two, thinking it possible that Clark might make 
another effort to carry out his purpose of selling the stove, pro- 
vided by the hand of charity to keep his wife and children from 
freezing. On reaching the old Sugar House in Baker's Court, 
I went up to the room occupied by the family of Clark, and 
tapped at the door. It was quickly opened, and the mother 
stood before me with the tears rapidly falling over her pale face. 

" Is your husband here 1 " I asked, and as I spoke I leaned 
forward to get a view of the room. 

" Can it be possible ! " I exclaimed, now seeing that the 
place where the stove had been standing was vacant. " Has he, 
then, succeeded in his purpose 1 " 

" Alas, sir ! it is too true," sobbed the wretched woman. 

I waited to see and hear no more. Hurrying down to the 
street, I went in pursuit of the wretched being, who had become 
so lost to human feeling, as to do an act of such cruel selfish- 
ness. Entering the main street, I looked up and down, but 
could see nothing of him. I passed to the corners, gazing 
thence in all directions. But he was no where in sight. Then 
I came back to the Court and walked up and down there for 
some time in expectation of his return. Not appearing after 
the lapse of ten minutes, I went to the main street once more. 
Running my eyes far down the line of pavement, I saw him 
two blocks away, slowly advancing along the side-walk. With 
a quick pace I hurried forward to meet him. He saw me, as I 
approached, and averting his eyes, tried to pass me. But, I laid 
my hand upon his arm with a sharp grip, saying as I did so, in 
an angry voice, — 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 85 

" Wretch ! What have you been doing ? " 

" I don't know ; " he answered, with assumed surprise, hut look- 
ing away from me as he spoke — " what right you have to address 
me in this way Mr. , I'm no more a Avretch than you are." 

" Wretch ! " I repeated, and still more severely. " Where is 
that stove ? " 

" I took it back again. You saw me do that," said he with 
confidence. 

" Not so. That was a mere pretence to deceive me ; I have 
been to the room in which your poor wife and children are freez- 
ing, and there is no stove there." 

His countenance instantly fell. 

" Now," said I, and I caught firmly hold of his arm ; " take 
me to the place where you sold or pawned it, or I will instantly 
have you before a magistrate on the charge of stealing. That 
stove was not your property." 

My manner as well as my words alarmed him. After some 
moments of embarrassment, he stammered out — 

" Its no use, Mr. ; the stove is sold, and there is no help 

for it." 

" Very well. If it is sold, where is the money ? " 

" I didn't get any money." 

"You didn't ?" 

" No." 

"Why not?" 

" I owed a dollar and a half — and — and — " 

He mumbled out the rest of the sentence indistinctly. 

" Let the balance stand on a drinking account," said I. 

His silence confirmed this suggestion. 

" Yes ; I understand exactly how it is." I went on. " Wretch- 
ed man ! Is it possible that you, James Clark, can have fallen 
so low ! " 



86 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

His eyes were now on the pavement, and he stood rebuked 
before me. 

" Where is the stove? " I continued. " That I must, and will 
have, I don't care who has it in his possession. Go with me to 
the place at once. I will be satisfied with nothing less." 

Some further hesitation was evinced, and then the man turned 
back and conducted me to a low grog-shop, in a small by-street, 
kept by an Irishman. 

" It's in there," said Clark, pausing a few houses away and 
pointing to the drinking-shop. " But it's no use trying to get 
the stove. Its sold out-right to McClutchen, and he'll never 
give it up." 

" Come along," I replied — " And we'll see about that." 

But Clark drew back. 

" Why don't you come along with me ? " said I. 

" Its no use. McClutchen won't give up the stove." 

" I'll see to that. Come. I want you to face him. I want 
you to say to him, in my presence, that he bought the stove. 
I'll see to the rest." 

I was forced, at length, almost to drag the poor degraded man 
into McClutchen's den. The room we entered was long and 
narrow, with a low ceiling, black with dust and smoke. It was 
divided into two parts by a venitian screen, reaching to within 
a few feet of the wall on either side. Occupying the front part, 
was a short, high counter, behind which, upon shelves, were 
arranged decanters of liquor, with lemons between them for 
ornament, and to suggest the idea of punch. Bottles of liquor 
were also in the window. Two or three tables and chairs, with 
a few newspapers, occupied the back part. Theatre bills were 
nailed against the walls, and fastened to the screen I have 
mentioned. 

Behind the counter of this drinking den, the air of which was, 



THECIRCEANCUP. ■ 87 

to me, stifling, from the fumes of tobacco and bad whisky, stood 
the keeper, a low-browed^ sensual, bull-dog looking Irishman. 
Clark shrunk behind me as we entered. The fellow seemed to 
comprehend the nature of our visit, for a most repulsive expres- 
sion came instantly into his face. 

" You know this man, I presume," said I, stepping aside to 
exhibit Clark, who really seemed in terror of the grog-seller, 
and tried to keep out of his sight. 

" How should I know him 1 " was the growling answer. 

" Every man is presumed to know his work," I could not, at 
the moment help saying, even at the risk of personal abuse. 

A flash of anger went over the Irishman's face. There was 
a motion of his lips as if he were about to reply, but not, proba- 
bly, finding a retort that suited him, he remained silent. 

" You bought a stove of this person, a little while ago," said 
I positively. 

This was received with a dogged silence. 

u It was not his stove." I added. 

There was a change in the Irishman's manner. 

" Did not you swear to me on the Bible, Jim Clark," said 
he, coming around from his counter and facing poor Clark, "that 
the stove was yours ? " 

" If he did, he swore to what was not true," said I. " And 
so," I added, sarcastically, " you have a commission from the 
State to swear your customers ! Verily ! this is a new feature in 
the dram-selling business." 

" My friend," replied McClutchen, with forced calmness, 
raising one of his huge hands as he spoke, to give force to his 
words, and looking at me with a lowering countenance, " If you 
are not more careful of your words I will pitch you into the 
street." 



88 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

" That might be a bad day's work for you," I as calmly re- 
plied. " And so you swore this poor creature ! " 

" Not on the Bible Mr. ! Not on the Bible," said 

Clark earnestly. 

" On what then 1 " I inquired. 

" It was only a dictionary," replied Clark. 

McClutchen, with an uneasy gesture, retired again behind his 
counter. 

" A dictionary ! " said I, half amused at this declaration. 

" Yes, Mr. , it was only a dictionary. I wouldn't 

have sworn on the Bible," responded Clark, who now seemed 
anxious that I should not think he had taken a solemn oath on 
the Holy Book. 

"But you swore to a lie, it seems, you drunken thief!" 
exclaimed McClutchen angrily. " Swore to a lie and cheated 
me into the bargain." 

" I don't know about the lie," said Clark, rallying a little. 
" It was my wife's stove ; and what is her's is mine." 

" Your wife's ha ! And is that all ? " cried the Irishman, 
instantly brightening. " Your wife's ! Oh, ho ! Troth ! and 
be sure what's her's is your's ! So its a bony fidy sale after all." 

" So I think," said Clark. 

" And so I don't think," was my firm reply. " The stove 
was only loaned to your wife, and, as it was loaned through me, 
I shall see that it goes back again to the place from which you 
removed it." 

" You'll have to prove your ownership," said the grog-seller, 
impudently. " All a trumped up story." 

" Is there an Alderman's Office near by? " This I said in a 
resolute tone, addressing Clark, and taking a step towards the 
door as I spoke. 

" An Alderman ! What do you want with an Alderman 1 " 
he asked with a look of alarm. 



THE CIRCEAN CUP 89 

" I merely wish to have you arrested for theft, and this man 
as an accomplice and receiver of stolen goods." 

My hand was by this time on the knob of the door. I saw an 
instant change in the countenance of McClutchen, and heard a 
low sentence of blasphemy from his lips. 

" Clark ! " said he, and his eyes glittered with impotent rage 
as he spoke. " Go back in the yard and get your stove ; and 
mind ye — don't show your cursed face in this shop again ! If 
you do, I won't be answerable for the consequence." 

Clark passed out through the back door, while I remained 
awaiting his return. He was absent three or four minutes, 
during which McClutchen took the poor satisfaction of abusing 
me roundly. This I bore quite patiently, having accomplished 
my purpose. So soon as Clark came back, carrying the stove in 
his arms, and looking more ashamed than he had yet appeared, 
I opened the door for him, and as he passed out, I turned my 
eyes upon the grog-shop keeper, and said — 

" See here my friend ; if your license happens not to be all 
right, I would advise you to see to it as quickly as possible, as it 
is more than probable you will hear from me before many hours 
pass. It doesn't seem exactly right for any man to tempt a poor 
wretch, who has lost all control over his depraved appetites, to 
steal from his wife and children, in mid- winter, their stove and 
sell it for rum ! It doesn't seem right, I say ; and I cannot but 
think that there is a power vested somewhere in our civil 
authorities to punish so flagrant an act. It can do no harm at 
least to see how the case stands. So, my friend, look to your- 
self." 

And I passed forth into the street, and once more breathed the 
pure air. Clark, staggering along under the stove, had already 
gone the distance of half a square in the direction of his home. 
I followed, keeping a few rods behind. Not content, this time, 



90 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

with seeing him enter the old building where he lived, I went 
in also ? and kept him under my eye until he opened the door 
of his own room. 

Believing that the check Clark had received, would effectu- 
ally prevent his again attempting to sell the stove, I concluded 
not to show myself to his family just at that time, but to go on 
to market, and, after breakfast, to look in and see if there was 
any hope of making a good impression on the mind of the poor 
inebriate. 

It was near ten o'clock when I called around again. I found 
Mrs. Clark alone with her three children. The stove was in its 
place, and the air of the room at a genial temperature. She 
looked up from her sewing as I entered, and I saw the tears 
glistening on her pale cheeks. 

" Where is your husband 1 " I asked, as I took the chair she 
offered me. There were but two in the apartment. 

" Gone out," she returned with a heavy, fluttering sigh. 

" I had hoped to find him at home," said I. 

" He is seldom here," she answered, with another deep sigh. 

" Has he any employment 1 " 

Mrs. Clark shook her head. 

" Unhappy man ! How low he has fallen ! And in so short 
a time. I could not have believed it." 

" And it is all my fault ! " exclaimed Mrs. Clark with a sud- 
den wildness of manner. " All my fault ! I tempted him and 
he fell ! Would to heaven I had died ere that fatal hour, when, 
like a Syren, I lured him from the way of safety, and placed 
that cup to his lips to drink, which changes the human into the 
bestial." 

Surprize at so unexpected a declaration kept me for some time 
silent. Mrs. Clark wept passionately for many minutes. 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 91 

" Surely, madam," said I at length, " you blame yourself 
too severely." 

" I was young and foolish," she replied, mournfully. " Ah ! 
little dreamed I that consequences so awful could flow from so 
small an act. Little dreamed I that there was such a power of 
evil fascination concealed in the stimulating cup, I so madly 
placed to his lips. But " — and her manner changed — " I am 
speaking vaguely." 

" Will you not speak in plainer language ? " said I, after wait- 
ing for some time for her to resume. 

She lifted her eyes to my face. Their expression was sad 
beyond all conception. 

" Do you remember James ten years ago ? " she asked. 

" I remember him well," was my answer. 

" Few better men lived. I do not think he had a fault. In 
all his habits he was regular, even to abstemiousness." 

" I never heard of his touching liquor before his marriage," 
said I. 

A shade of agony went over the poor wife's face ; her lips 
quivered, and the tears came again to her eyes. 

" Let me tell to you, what I have never told to a living soul 
before," said she, at length, calming the wild motions of her 
heart by a strong effort. " That fatal secret has been locked up 
for years in my bosom. James has never upbraided me in words 
— but, oh ! has not his fall been to me a daily rebuke beyond 
the power of language to convey 1 But, I will compose myself, 
while I relate to you an act of folly and madness, the direful 
consequences of which, in all their varied forms, it is hardly 
within the power of the imagination to conceive. From my 
father's house, intoxicating liquors were never banished. My 
father, as you know, was a man of even passions, and great self- 
control. He had a strong will, by which he was able to limit 



92 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

himself in any indulgence of mind or body. His theory was, 
that a little brandy taken now and then, was good for the sys- 
tem, and, in his own case, he carried out this system. From 
childhood, my eyes were familiar with decanters, and glasses ; 
they formed the chief ornament of our sideboard. When the 
public mind began to be turned toward the evils of drunkenness, 
efforts were made to enlist my father on the side of the temper- 
ance reformation. But, he met the overtures with a strong 
repulse. In fact, he was offended. He spoke of these over- 
tures in his family, and his strong expressions of contempt for 
men too weak in the head to bear a glass of brandy, fixed them- 
selves in my mind, and had their effect upon my feelings. 

" As I passed up from girlhood to womanhood, young men 
began to visit at my father's house. Among them there was 
Mr. Clark, toward whom my feelings of preference leaned from 
the beginning. As was the custom with my father, brandy was 
set out on the occasion of James' first visit. But he respectfully 
declined taking any. ' What ! ' exclaimed my father ; c Are 
you one of these cold water men.' There was a tone of deris- 
ion in his voice. 

" I saw a bright spot burn on the cheek of James. He merely 
answered, ' I never drink brandy.' ' Take some good old Irish 
whisky, then,' said my father. But James declined touching 
any thing, and my father, in an under tone, muttered something 
about ' Milk and water chaps,' that I did not hear distinctly. 

" To me, the refusal of James to drink with my father, seem- 
ed a little strange, and I felt annoyed by it. I liked him, and, 
therefore, felt the more annoyed that he should do any thing 
that did not fully harmonize with the views and feelings of my 
parent. At subsequent visits, in the presence of other young 
men who took brandy and water with my father, James steadily 
maintained his abstemiousness, not, however, without subjecting 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 93 

himself to railery, and to the imputation of being- a little weak- 
headed. All this worried me, especially, as he continued to 
be my favorite. 

" On a certain occasion, a gay cousin plagued me a good deal 
about James, and was particularly sarcastic on the subject of his 
water-drinking habits. I became, at last, so much fretted, that I 
secretly resolved to reform him in this particular, if there were 
power in a woman over one who, it was plain, regarded her 
favor as no light thing. So, at his next visit, I brought him a 
waiter on which was a decanter of brandy, a tumbler, and a 
small pitcher of water. c You'll take something from me, I 
know,' said I with a smile, the most winning and irresistible I 
could put on. c No, not even from you,' he replied, without 
hesitation, smiling in his turn. ' Not from me ! ' I affected to 
be surprized, and slightly hurt. He shook his head, still smiling 
pleasantly. i Do take some, just for my sake ! ' I urged. But 
I could not move him. I was disappointed at my failure, and 
could not help showing what I felt, even though I tried to hide 
my real feelings. That was the most uncomfortable evening 
we had yet passed together, 

" My woman's pride was now piqued. I had miscalculated 
my power over James, and was hurt and mortified at my failure. 
It seemed like such a little thing. What harm was there in 
taking a glass of brandy ? Was he any better than my father ? 
The more I permitted my thoughts to brood over the matter, the 
more uncomfortable did I feel. 

u Not many weeks after the failure of this attempt upon 
James, I received from him a proposal for my hand. Had there 
been no inclination but my own to regard, the response would 
have been immediate. But my parents were to be consulted on 
so grave a matter ; and so I asked a few days for reflection. I 
remember, as if it were yesterday, the evening he came to re- 



94 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

ceive my answer. It was favorable, of course. My father said 
something about his queer notions, but had nothing serious to 
object. The character of James stood fair, he was industrious 
and sober, and was in the receipt of a good income as clerk. In 
our family the match was considered a very good one. So, I 
was prepared when he came, to answer in the affirmative. 

" I was sitting in our little parlor, when he came in. As soon 
as my eyes rested on his face, I saw that suspense had taken 
away its usual bright, cheerful expression ; and, instantly, I 
formed the thoughtless resolution to take an advantage of him. 
I saw, with a woman's quick intention, that he was far enough 
in earnest on the subject of his application for my hand, to be 
willing to make some sacrifices to gain it. I, therefore, received 
him with more than usual reserve. A few minutes were passed 
in an exchange of the common-places of the day. He was, 
evidently, under a pressure. His voice had lost its clear, musi- 
cal intonation ; and what he did say was uttered in an absent 
manner. I was perfectly at ease, though I affected embarrass- 
ment and reserve. 

" James had been seated only a few minutes, when I arose, 
and going to the sideboard, set a decanter of liquor with glasses 
and water on a small tray : These I presented to him, assuming, 
as I did so, a certain gravity of manner. c Try a glass of fath- 
er's fine old cogniac,' said I. 

" Poor . fellow ! He hesitated only a moment ; but the 
struggle in his mind was violent, though brief. Pouring out a 
small portion of the brandy, he added a little water, and drank 
it down. An expression of natural disgust flitted over his coun- 
tenance as he removed the glass from his lips. ' How do you 
like it?' said I, with an approving smile. C I don't profess to 
be a judge of these matters,' was his reply. c I should never 
be a drunkard from the love of liquor.' 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 95 

" There was a glow of triumph at my heart — weak, foolish 
heart ! — as I moved away to replace the tray upon the sideboard. 
I stood for a few moments with my back toward him, hurriedly 
debating whether I should at once announce the favorable result 
of his application, or wait until he asked for my decision. 
Deciding not to wait, I turned, and placing my hand in his, 
said, in a low voice, that trembled with the agitation of my 
happy heart — £ It is yours.' 

" Quickly grasping that hand, he raised it to his lips and kiss- 
ed it fervently. And yet, I felt a slight chill of disappointment. 
His reception of my answer was not so full of enthusiasm as I 
had been led to anticipate. Many happier evenings had we 
passed together than that one proved to be. I was conscious of 
having taken an undue advantage over him, and he seemed to 
be thinking of the same thing. Once he referred to the act, in 
these words — c Your experiment was a dangerous one, Mary. 
It might have been tried on one whose appetite needed any 
thing but excitement. Happy is it for both of us that I have a 
natural dislike for stimulating drinks.' 

" His words rebuked me, and I was ashamed of what I had 
done. I felt, that I had acted unfairly, and that I must be a 
sufferer in his good opinion. That night, I cried for an hour 
before going to sleep. It seemed as if a cloud were over me, 
and a heavy hand laid upon my bosom. What would I not 
have given to have recalled that act. In the midst of my un- 
happy feelings came intruding itself the thought that James, 
from this little beginning, might go on, step by step, and fall off, 
finally into intemperance. I shuddered as I pushed this thought 
aside. But, it returned again, and from that time, haunted me 
day and night. 

" When James called in on the next evening, my father was 



96 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

in the parlor. c Well, my young man, 5 said my father, ' so you 
have taken a strong fancy to this young lady of mine.' Well,, 
all I can say is, that I hope she will make as good a wife as 
she has been a child. As for you, we welcome you into our 
family with a right good will. And now, I shall insist on 
your taking a glass of brandy with me, if you never do the like 
again. Oh ! how intense was my sudden desire that James 
would finally decline this invitation. Not so. Without the 
slightest apparent hesitation he stepped to the sideboard, and 
joined my father in a glass of brandy. 

" From that time the door was open. At his next visit, my 
father did not happen to be present. Once or twice during the 
evening I saw the eyes of James wander toward the sideboard ; 
but, I did not invite him to take any thing. When next he met 
my father, the invitation to drink was renewed, and accepted 
without hesitation. As I made it a point, when alone with him 
in the parlor, not to offer him any thing, only a few weeks 
elapsed before he made free to help himself without an invitation 
— and this he continued to do regularly at every subsequent visit. 
I cannot tell you how much I was troubled at all this. Yet, 
what could I say 1 

" On the night of our marriage, James indulged himself so 
freely as to attract attention. I was deeply mortified, and troub- 
led still more. A well supplied sideboard was one of our house- 
keeping appendages, and regularly at dinner time James took 
his glass of brandy, I soon became alarmed, and ventured to 
remonstrate, but, alas ! It was too late ! " 

Mrs. Clark here burst into tears, and sobbed for some mo- 
ments, while her little children, who had gathered around, 
gazed upon her with looks of wonder. 

" I will not," she resumed, " trace down the successive steps 
of his declension. Enough, that we have, now, the dreadful 



THECIRCEANCUP. 97 

result; and that I am guilty of having tempted him from the 

path of safety. His blood is on my head. Oh, Mr. . ! 

Physical degradation and suffering are nothing to the anguish of 
mind I endure in view of the fearful responsibility under which 
I am crushed down in spirit. By all this ruin, I am the guilty 
agent. The curse with which my poor husband is cursed, I call- 
ed down upon his head. What would I not suffer ; what would 
I not sacrifice to save him? Even life itself I would cheer- 
fully lay down, would that restore to him what he has lost." 

At this moment the door was opened, and Clark came in 
quickly. There was an expression of alarm on his face. He 
nodded to me slightly ; then glanced earnestly around the room. 

" What is the matter James ? " asked his wife ; her counte- 
nance reflecting the look of fear that was in his. 

" I don't know I'm sure," he returned, in a half absent way. 
And, his eyes wandered from side to side, with a restless motion. 

Suddenly, as his gaze fell to the floor, near his feet, he started 
with a low cry of fear, and retreated behind the chair in which 
his wife was sitting. 

Poor Mrs. Clark did not comprehend the meaning of this ; but 
I understood it too well. 

" James ! James ! What ails you ? " she exclaimed, her pale 
face growing paler ; " Are you loosing your senses? " 

" I believe so. There ! It's coming right over your shoulder 
after me ! " 

And he sprung away and crept behind the bed close in to the 
wall, crouching down almost to the floor. 

I shall never forget the look cast upon me by Mrs. Clark at 
this moment. Her face was like ashes. 

"What does it mean? What has come over him?" she 
eagerly interrogated me, catching hold of my arm, and looking 
up at me with an imploring look. 



98 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

" He must have a physician immediately." I replied, " I 
will go for one." 

" Oh ! don't leave me ! Don't leave me ! " she cried, cling- 
ing to my arm. " For mercy's sake don't leave me ! " 

" Can your little boy find the way to Doctor M 5 s 1 " I 

asked, after reflecting for a moment. 

" Yes sir ; if you will direct him," she answered. 

Taking a scrap of paper from my pocket, I wrote a hurried 
note, and gave it to the child, who had come to my place of 
business a few days before, desiring him to take it to the office 

of Dr. M , and give it to any one he might find there. As 

the little boy left to go on this errand, Clark came out from be- 
hind the bed, and moved towards the centre of the room, look- 
ing anxiously and guardedly around him. 

" Mr. Clark," said I, going up and taking his hand, which I 
found to be trembling with a low, nervous thrill, " Don't let 
your imagination deceive you. There is no reality in this." 

But, my words did not reassure him. He still glanced, fear- 
fully, from side to side. Suddenly, while I yet held his hand, 
he flung himself backward, with an exclamation of terror still 
wilder than he had yet uttered, retreating towards the wall, and 
with his hands eagerly endeavoring to beat off some terrible 
object conjured up by his diseased imagination. 

" Oh, what does it mean ! What does it mean ! " came 
anxiously from the lips of the poor wife, while tears gushed 
from her eyes. 

" Nothing shall hurt you," said I, going up to where Clark 
had shrunk into a corner of the room, with every limb trembling 
like an aspen. 

"Oh! take it off!" fairly yelled the miserable creature. 
" Take it off! Don't you see that it is strangling me? " 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 99 

Affecting to remove something from his neck, I said: — 
" There ; I have taken it away." 

This satisfied him for a moment, but, only for a moment ; 
looking down towards his feet, he gave another cry, and, start- 
ing up, ran to the bed, and throwing himself thereon, buried his 
face amid the clothes. Here he lay and panted like a frightened 
child. 

Briefly and hurriedly, I now explained to Mrs. Clark, the 
nature of her husband's malady, and how it would progress to a 
crisis, which might end in death. I never saw such a look of 
mingled anguish and fear upon any countenance as was exhibit- 
ed in hers. 

With his face covered up by the bed clothes, Clark now lay 
until the appearance of his child, who brought with him a student 

from the office of Dr. M ; the Doctor himself being out on 

his regular professional visits. I then retired for the purpose of 
procuring a suitable person to remain with Clark during the pro- 
gress of his fearful malady. On reflection, however, I deemed 
it best to have him removed to the Alms House, and accordingly 
obtained a permit for that purpose. On my return, I found him 
in a paroxysm of terror. It was with the utmost difficulty that 
the young student could keep him in the room. This excite- 
ment subsided after I came in, and while the sufferer lay ex- 
hausted upon the bed, I held a consultation with his wretched 
wife about removing him across the Schuylkill. To this she, at 
first, objected positively; but, as the nature of the disease and 
the character of its terrible development was more fully explain- 
ed to her by the student and myself, she at length reluctantly 
consented. I immediately procured a cab, and, in company 
with the young medical attendant, conveyed him to the Block- 
lay Alms House. 

The history of this man's fall, as related to me by his wife, 



100 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

affected me deeply, and more than usual interest in the case was 
awakened in my mind. Every day I sent over to the Alms 
House for intelligence as to his condition, and, on the second day 
was pleased to learn that he had passed the crisis of the disease, 
and was safe. Safe ! Alas ! no ! There were fearful dangers 
yet ahead. Safe from death ; but not safe from the master- vice 
in whose power he had been for so many years. But, I had, 
ere this, resolved to drag him out of the horrible pit and miry 
clay into which he had fallen, if that were in the range of 
human power. So, on the third day I went out to see him. 
Exhausted from the fierce struggle through which he had pass- 
ed, I found the wretched man. I sat down by his side, and 
taking his hand inquired as to how he felt. Instead of answer- 
ing me, he turned his head away. 

u I am glad to find you so much better," said I. 

A long sigh breathed from his lips, and then he murmured in 
a low, sad voice, — 

" It would have been better if I had died." 

" No, no, Mr. Clark, do not say that," I returned quickly. 
" You have much to live for." 

" Me ! " My remark seemed strange to him, and he turned 
upon me a look of surprise. 

" Yes, you, James Clark ! you have much to live for." 

" My wife and children," he said, after a pause, sadly. 

" Yes." 

" Little good have I done them, so far. Better, far better, that 
I had died!" 

" Let the past evil suffice, James. The future is all before 
you. Live a new life." 

" Impossible ! " 

" Why do you say so? " 

" This cursed appetite ! " 



THE CIRCEAN CUP. 101 

" Resist and deny it." 

" I cannot. Its power over me is entire. Have I not striven 
against it a hundred and a hundred times 1 " 

" Try again. Go forth from this sick bed, sustained by the 
power of a strong resolution." 

" I have no power in myself. I am weak as a child. In a 
little while, the fiery thirst that has been consuming me will 
return, and then I will be swept away as by the force of a down- 
sweeping current." 

" You have said truly," I replied : " You have no power in 
yourself to resist evil. No one has. All power of resistance 
comes from God. Repose in his strength and you are safe." 

" God help me ! " exclaimed the unhappy man, with a sud- 
den, despairing appeal, as he lifted his eyes upward. 

" And God will help you," said I confidently. " He is ever 
ready to help ail who look to him." 

" Oh, if I could indeed live a new life ! " was exclaimed 
eagerly. " If I could bring light and comfort back again to my 
dark, desolate dwelling, I think I would be the happiest man 
alive." 

" You can ! You can ! Use but the means to strengthen 
the good resolution of the present hour. Show by your acts, 
that you are in earnest, and then both God and your fellow men 
will sustain you in your weakness." 

" What shall I do "? " he eagerly inquired. 

" The first step for one like you to take," said I — " for one 
who has lost the power of rational self-control, is to sign the 
pledge. Then you come at once into the sphere of temperance, 
and will have a hundred supporters where you would not have 
one without. The act will bring you into immediate association 
with temperance men, and they will hold you up until you are 
strong enough to stand yourself." 



102 THE CIRCEAN CUP. 

" Bring me the pledge, and I will sign it," he cried eagerly, 
as if he felt this to be his last hope. 

I was prepared for him. Drawing forth a pledge, a pocket 
ink-stand and a pen, I put it at once in his power to act upon 
his good resolution. Without a moments' hesitation, he subscrib- 
ed his name. 

" There are brighter days in store for you," said I, grasping 
his hand and shaking it warmly. " You can now say, with one 
of old time — Rejoice not over me, 0, mine enemy ! For, though 
I fall, yet shall I rise again." 

I left him soon after, promising to call in a carriage on the 
next day, and take him home to his family. 

The meeting between Clark and his wife — to the latter I had 
conveyed intelligence of her husband's good purposes — was 
affecting in the extreme. I left them in each other's arms, 
promising to call in during the day to have some talk about the 
future. When I did call, I was prepared to offer Clark a place 
at four hundred dollars a year, so soon as he was well enough to 
accept of it. 

That place he has filled ever since, and now receives seven 
hundred dollars, instead of four. But of all, he has religiously 
kept his pledge. I need not describe the change at home. That 
can be readily imagined. 

Let the story be a warning to all. Seek not to draw aside 
any one from the way of temperance, for that is the only path 
of safety. 

As for the grog-seller, McClutchen, so soon as leisure gave 
the opportunity, I turned my thoughts toward him ; but he 
had taken counsel of prudence, and was not to be found. Not 
being, in all probability, a legalized poor-house and jail-popu- 
lator, man-killer and maimer, he deemed it prudent to avoid 
meeting the offended justice (!) of the state. 



THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. 

BY MRS. JANE C CAMPBELL 

Of all the wo, and want, and wretchedness, which awaken 
our compassion ; of all the scences of misery which call so 
loudly for sympathy ; there is none that so harrows up the feel- 
ings as the Drunkard's Home ! Look at him who began life 
with the love of friends, the admiration of society, the prospect 
of extensive usefulness ; look at him in after years, when he 
has learned to love the draught, which, we shudder while we 
say it, reduces him to the level of the brute. Where is now 
his usefulness ? Where his admiration, where the love, that 
once were his 1 Love ! none but the love of a wife, or a child, 
can cling to him in his degradation. Look at the woman, who, 
when she repeated " for better for worse," would have shrunk 
with terror had the faintest shadow of the " worse," fallen upon 
her young heart. Is that she who on her bridal day was adorn- 
ed with such neatness and taste 1 Ah me, what a sad change ! 
And the children, for whom he thanketh God, at their birth ; 
the little ones of whom he had been so proud, whom he had 
dandled on his knee, and taught to lisp the endearing name of 
father — see them trembling before him, and endeavoring to 
escape his violence. 



104 THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. 

Oh God, have pity on the Drunkard's Home ! The artist has 
well told his story, and who that looks upon it but would fear- 
ingly turn aside from the first step to ruin 1 

We too have a tale to tell, which it pains us to acknowledge, 
contains more truth than fiction. 

James Boynton was the first born of his parents, and a proud 
and happy mother was Mrs. Boynton, when her friends gathered 
around her to look at her pretty babe. Carefully was he tended, 
and all his infantile winning ways were treasured as so many 
proofs of his powers of endearment. 

In wisdom has the Almighty hidden the deep secrets of futu- 
rity from mortal ken ; when the mother first folds her infant to 
her heart, could she look through the long vista of years, and 
see the suffering, the sin, the shame, which may be the portion 
of her child, would she not ask God in mercy to take the infant 
to himself? Would she not unrepiningly, nay, thankfully, 
bear all the agony of seeing her little one, with straightened 
limbs, and folded hands, and shrouded form, carried from her 
bosom to its baby-grave ? And yet, not one of all the thousands 
who are steeped in wickedness and crime, but a mother's heart 
has gladdened when the soft eye first looked into hers, and the 
soft cheek first nestled on her own. And, still more awful 
thought ! not one of all these Pariahs of society but has an im- 
mortal soul, to save which, the Son of God left his glory, and 
agonized upon the cross ! 

James grew up a warm hearted boy, and among his young 
companions he was a universal favorite. " Jim Boynton is too 
good-natured to refuse doing anything we ask," said Ned Gran- 
ger one day to a school-fellow who feared that James would not 
join a party of rather doubtful character, which was forming for 
what they called a frolic. And this was the truth. Here lay 
the secret of Boynton's weakness — he was too good-natured ; 



THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. 105 

for this very desirable and truly amiable quality, unless united 
with firmness of character, is often productive of evil. But we 
pass over his boyish life, and look at him in early manhood. 

He has a fine figure, with a handsome intelligent counte- 
nance, and his manners have received their tone and polish from 
a free intercourse in refined circles. He passed his college ex- 
amination with credit to himself ; but, from sheer indecision of 
character, hesitated in choosing a profession. At this time, an 
uncle, who resided in the South, was about retiring from mer- 
cantile life, and he proposed that James should enter with him 
as a junior partner, while he would remain for a year or two to 
give his nephew the benefit of his experience. The business 
was a lucrative one, and the proposal was accepted. 

James left his home at the North, and went to try his fortunes 
amid new scenes and new temptations. His uncle received him 
warmly, for the old man had no children of his own, and James 
was his god-child. His uncle's position in society, and his own 
frank and gentlemanly demeanor, won him ready access to the 
hospitality of southern friends, and it was not long before he fell 
in love with a pretty orphan girl, whom he frequently met at 
the house of a common acquaintance. That the girl was portion- 
less was no demerit in his uncle's eyes. Not all his treasures, 
and they were large, had choked the avenues to the old man's 
heart, and the young people were made happy by his approval 
of their union. 

After a visit to his friends in the north, James returned with 
his bride ; and in a modern house, furnished with ever}* luxury, 
the happy pair began their wedded life. And now, who so 
blest as Boynton? Three years pass away, and two children 
make their home still brighter. Does no one see the cloud, 
" Not bigger than a man's hand," upon the verge of the moral 
horizon ? 



106 THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. 

Boynton's dislike to saying- " No," when asked to join a few 
male friends at dinner, or, on a party of pleasure ; his very good 
nature, which made him so desirable a companion, were the 
means of leading him in the steps to ruin. 

" Come Boynton, another glass ? " 

" Excuse me, my dear fellow, I have really taken too much 
already." 

" Nonsense ! it's the parting glass, you must take it." And 
Boynton, wanting in firmness of character, yielded to the voice 
of the tempter. Need we say, that, with indulgence, the love 
for the poison was strengthened. 

For a while the unfortunate man strove to keep up appear- 
ances. He was never seen, during the day in a state of in- 
toxication ; and from a doze on the sofa in the evening or a 
heavy lethargic sleep at night, he could awake to converse with 
his friends, or attend at his counting-room, without his secret 
habit being at all suspected. 

But who, that willingly dallies with temptation, can foretell 
the end 1 Who can " Lay the flattering unction to his soul," 
that in a downward path he can stop when he pleases, and 
unharmed retrace his steps'? Like the moth, circling nearer and 
still nearer to the flame, until the insect falls with scorched wing, 
a victim to its own temerity, so will the pinions of the soul be 
left scathed and drooping. 

Soon Boynton began to neglect his business, and he was 
secretly pointed out as a man of intemperate habits. At last he 
was shunned, shaken off, by the very men who had led him 
astray. Who were most guilty? Let heaven judge. Here let us 
pause, and ask why it is that so many look upon a fellow-being 
verging to the brink of ruin, without speaking one persuasive 
word or doing one kindly act, to win him back to virtue 1 Why 
is it, that, when fallen, he is thrust still farther down by taunt- 



THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. 107 

ing and contempt? Oh, such was not the spirit of him who 
came " To seek and to save that which was lost." Such was 
not the spirit of him who said, " Neither do I condemn thee ; 
go and sin no more." How often, instead of throwing the 
mantle of charity over a brother's sin, instead of telling him his 
fault " Between thee and him alone," is it bared to the light of 
day, trumpeted to a cold and censure-loving world, until the 
victim either sinks into gloomy despondency, and believes it 
hopeless for him to attempt amendment ; or else stands forth in 
bold defiance, and rushes headlong to his ruin. Not one human 
being stands so perfect in his isolation, as to be wholly unmoved 
by contact with his fellows ; what need then, for the daily exer- 
cise of that God-like charity, which " SufTereth long and is 
kind," which " Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth 
all things, endureth all things." Seven years have gone with 
their records to eternity — where is James Boynton now 1 

In one room of a miserable, delapidated tenement, inhabited 
by many unfortunate victims of poverty and vice, lives he who, 
on his wedding-day, had entered a home which taste and luxury 
rendered enviable. Squalor and discomfort are on every side. 
His four children are pale and sickly, from want of proper food, 
and close confinement in that deleterious atmosphere. They 
have learned to hide away when they hear their father's foot- 
steps : for, alas ! to his own, he is no longer the good natured 
man. Fallen in his own esteem, frequently the subject of ribald 
mirth, his passions have become inflamed, and he vents his ill- 
humor on his defenceless family. He no longer makes even a 
show of doing something for their support ; and, to keep them 
from starving, his wife works whenever and at whatever she can 
find employment. A few more years, and where is Mrs. Boyn- 
ton 1 Tremble : yet who set an example to your families of 
which ye cannot foretell the consequences ! Tremble, ye whom 



108 THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. 

God has made to be the protectors, the guides, the counselors, of 
the women ye have vowed to love and cherish ! Mrs. Boynton, 
like her husband, has fallen ! In an evil hour, harrassed by 
want, ill-used by her husband she tasted the fatal cup ! It pro- 
duced temporary forgetfulness^ from which she awoke to a sense 
of shame and anguish. Ah, she had no mother, no sister, no 
woman-friend who truly cared for her, to warn, to plead, to ad- 
monish ! Again was she tempted, again she tasted, and the 
squalid home was rendered tenfold more wretched, by the ab- 
sence of all attempt at order. However great may be the sorrow 
and distress occasioned by a man's love for strong drink, it is not 
to be compared to the deep wretchedness produced by the same 
cause in woman ; and it is matter for thankfulness, that so few 
men drag down their wives with them in their fall. 

Providence raised up a friend who took the barefooted chil- 
dren of the Boyntons from being daily witnesses of the evil 
habits of their parents ; and so dulled were all the finer feelings 
of his nature, that James Boynton parted from them without a 
struggle. 

Like the Lacedemonians of old, who exposed the vice to ren- 
der it hateful in the eyes of the beholders, we might give other 
and more harrowing scenes from real life ; but let this one 
suffice. 

Thank God, for the change which public opinion has already 
wrought ! Thank God, for the efforts which have been made to 
stay the moral pestilence ! Oh, it is fearful to think how many 
homes have been made desolate — how many hearts have been 
broken — how many fine minds have been ruined — how many 
lofty intellects have been humbled ! It is fearful to think of the 
madness — the crime — the awful death — which follow in the steps 
to Ruin ! 



THE WINE-CUP. 

BY MRS. C. M. SAWYER. 

Dash down the sparkling cup ! its gleam, 
• Like the pale corpse -light o'er the tomb. 
Is but a false, deceitful beam 

To lure thee onward to thy doom. 
The sparkling gleam will fade away, 

And round thy lost bewildered feet, 
'Mid darkness, terror, and dismay, 

The ghastly shapes of death will meet. 

Dash down the cup ! a poison sleeps 

In every drop thy lips would drain, 
To make thy life-blood seethe and leap, 

A fiery flood through every vein — 
A fiery flood that will efface, 

By slow degrees, thy godlike mind 
Till, 'mid its ashes, not a trace 

Of reason shall be left behind. 

Dash down the cup ! a serpent starts 

Beneath the flowers which crown its brim, 
Whose deadly fangs will strike thy heart 

And make thy flashing eye grow dim. 

10 



V 



110 THE WINE-CUP. 

Before whose hot and maddening breath — 
More fatal than the simoom blast — 

Thy manhood, in unhonored death, 
Will sink, a worthless wreck at last. 

Dash down the cup ! thy father stands 

And pleads in accents deep and low, 
Thine anguished, mother clasps her hands 

With quivering lips and wordless woe. 
They who have borne thee on their breast 

And shielded thee through many a year; 
Oh, would 'st thou make their bosoms blest, 

Their life a joy, — their pleading hear ! 

Dash down the cup ! thy young wife kneels- 

Her eyes, whose drops have often gushed, 
Are turned, with mute and soft appeal, 

Upon thy babe in slumber hushed. 
Didst thou not woo her in her youth 

With many a fond and solemn vow? 
Oh, turn again, and all her truth 

And love shall be rewarded now ! 

Dash down the cup ! and on thy brow, 

Though darkened o'er with many a stain. 
Thy manhood's light, so feeble now, 

shall, bright and steady, burn again. 
Thy strength shall, like the fabled bird, 

From its own ashes upward spring; 
And fountains in thy breast be stirred, 

Whose waters living joy shall bring! 



LAKE SUPERIOR AND THE NORTH-WEST 



BY HORACE GREELEY. 7 



Away, far away toward the sunsets of June, stretches the 
peerless, majestic Superior, the largest, the deepest, the purest, 
the coldest body of fresh water on the surface of the globe. 
With a length of four hundred miles, a mean breadth of one 
hundred and fifty, a total circumference (without regarding petty 
indentations) of not less than fifteen hundred, with its surface 
six hundred feet above and its depths three hundred below the 
heaving surges of the two great oceans on either hand, with its 
rock-girdled, slightly timbered shores abandoned by the savage 
whose thinly scattered bands once found here a scanty and pre- 
carious subsistence, and hardly as yet invaded by the white 
man's merciless axe, Lake Superior lies to this day the most 
cleanly and lovely expanse of waters that embosoms the moon's 
cold glances and returns gaze for gaze as stately and unmoved. 

It was early in June, 1847, when our boat cast loose from 
Detroit, and headed west north-west up the broad, short, placid 
Detroit river through the small, shallow Lake St. Clair, up the 
river so named into and across the magnificent Huron, centre 
and pride of the great chain of lakes which form so striking and 
beneficent a feature of our continent. The evening shadows 



112 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

were deepening 1 as we entered the lake, and all that night, next 
day, and far into the following night, our good boat pursued her 
north-west way to Mackinac, her immediate destination. The 
weather was stormy, alternating from pouring rain to thick, drift- 
ing mist— to thick that frequent soundings were essential to 
safety, for Huron has more than her share of the twenty-two 
thousand islands embosomed by the great chain of lakes and 
rivers which forms our northern boundary. They lie mainly in 
the north, so as to leave clear the usual track of our steamboats 
and vessels mainly destined to Lake Michigan, for the greater 
part of the way ; but as you approach Mackinac, the Michigan 
coast and its islets on on?, side, the islands half filling the north 
end of the lake on the other, with Mackinac itself directly in 
front, render the navigation in a dense fog somewhat critical. 
Our first shallow soundings indicated land on the Michigan side 
and pretty near, as the water shoaled fast ; so our boat was 
headed off; but a short time sufficed to indicate land on the 
other bow, so no safe course remained but to anchor. With 
night the fog and storm took leave, and broad day showed Mack- 
inac but a few miles distant, directly in our onward course. We 
had anchored just in time. 

A stroll at Mackinac is worth a day in any man's life. The 
island lies in the mouth of Lake Michigan, which, but for it, 
would be but a magnificent bay or arm of Lake Huron. It is 
an out-crop of limestone above the two lakes it thus separates, 
covered with a gravelly loom which the crumbling and sweating 
of the rock renders decidedly fertile. The potato especially 
grows here in rare luxuriousness and excellence — but cultivation 
is very scantily attended to. The arts most in vogue are fishing 
and drinking whisky, which are carried to great perfection. The 
shoals of fish passing by it into and out of Lake Michigan made 
it a favorite haunt of the Red Man from time immemorial ; its 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 113 

command of the entrance into Lake Michigan dictated the estab- 
lishment here of a Military post several generations ago ; and 
where Indians and soldiers do congregate, there liquor is apt to 
be in requisition. Missionaries, Catholic and Protestant, were 
long since attracted to this savage emporium ; but about the 
only trace of their labors now visible to the naked eye is c The 
Mission House/ by far the best hotel on the island. I did not 
taste it, but understood that the liquor it dispenses is a decided 
improvement (in taste) on the ' Fire-water,' for which the In- 
dians of the last century were each too happy to pay a dol- 
lar a pint in beaver-skins at half a dollar a piece, thus keep- 
ing himself most royally drunk until the last skin, which should 
have bought bread for his hungering babes, had been drunk 
up, and then departing in sullen silence, with a headache like a 
young volcano, for his bare-walled lodge in the distant wilder- 
ness, there to mope and starve through a six months' unbroken 
winter. 

I note the improvement, as tested by the palate, in the liquor 
procurable at Mackinac, because improvement is there a rarity. 
In the heart of the thrifty and rapidly growing West, here is a 
mart done-over, fassee decaying — an embryo Tadmor or Nine- 
veh. The Red Men, having been swindled and fuddled out of 
all their lands within a summer's journey, have been pushed 
farther and farther back into the still unbroken wilderness, ren- 
dering it no longer convenient nor practicable for them to come 
hither to receive their annual payments ; the Missionaries and 
the whisky-dispensers have accompanied or followed them ; 
even the soldiers, save a very few, have been drawn away to 
some point where soldiering is not so glaring an absurdity and 
futility ; and Mackinac is left to the fishermen, the steamboats, 
the few wiser travelers for pleasure who make a stop of a day 
or two at the Mission House, the sellers of c Injun curiosities,' 



114 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

and the dozen families of loiterers of diverse hues who remain 
here, apparently because they know not how to get away. By 
these its fall from its high estate is not redeemed; it is scarcely 
retarded : Mackinac was. 

Yet it might be, may be, an inviting summer residence for 
invalids. Its atmosphere is of the purest ; its breezes from the 
cold surrounding lakes hardly intermitted ; its c nine months' 
winters ' are divided from each other by 6 three months' cold 
weather '• — to wit, from the middle of June to the middle of Sep- 
tember — just the season least endurable in milder climates. On 
the 8th of June, 1847, the few apple-trees here had not blos- 
somed, but were thinking about it ; they had accomplished it 
before my return on the 1st of July. 

We left Mackinac in the fair, fresh morning, and bore north- 
east some ninety miles to the ' Grand Detour,' or great elbow 
made by the St. Mary's River in discharging the waters of Lake 
Superior into those of Lake Huron. Both river and lake are in 
this quarter studded with islands, and I never hope to see on 
earth a fairer sight than here lay spread out beneath the genial 
midday sun of June, which reminded me of an evening May-day 
in Vermont or New-Hampshire. The islands and shores rose in 
graceful swells from the very edge of the water, which here 
hardly rises or falls a foot in a century ; the poplar and white 
birch, which mainly line the pebbly, rocky shores, were in their 
early, light-green tender leaf, contrasting strongly with the dark 
evergreens in the background, and giving the impression at first 
sight of grassy meadows sloping down from the woods to the 
water and filling up the space between them. In some places, 
a close scrutiny was needed to dispel the natural illusion. 
Many of the tiny islets appear to rise but a foot or two above 
the surface of the broad and tranquil St. Mary's, and would 
seem in constant danger of being submerged, but their timber 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 115 

bears testimony to their perfect immunity from that peril. No 
mountains nor cliffs obstruct the breeze nor the vision, and the 
passage of the generally deep and placid but in some places 
swift and shallow St. Mary's is a succession of magnificent pic- 
tures, wherein the serenest and deepest blue of heaven is fitly 
reflected in the clear cold depths below, and the scarcely in- 
dented forest, in its impressive silence and grandeur, fitly blends 
and harmonizes with both. 

We got aground when a few miles from the Saut St. Marie, 
running on a bank in the darkness of the night, and were unable 
to work off till next morning. An hour of sunshine brought us 
safely to the wharf at the Saut, where the waters of Lake 
Superior leap and foam over a bed of rugged rocks, perhaps 
half a mile wide and rather more than a mile long, in which 
they descend some eighteen or twenty feet, into a wide, still 
basin below, forming an excellent harbor for all manner of craft, 
and a hundred times as many of them as have ever yet been 
attracted to that rude region. There is no perpendicular fall of 
any account, and sometimes, when strong western gales blow for 
a day or more down the lake, doubling the volume of water dis- 
charged and covering up the channel rocks therewith, I under- 
stand that the appearance is very little different from that of the 
St. Lawrence at some of its larger rapids not deemed absolutely 
barriers to navigation. On these rare occasions, the only obstacle 
to the passage of light, strong steamboats down or even up is 
the shallowness and intricacy of the channel, but that precludes 
the idea, not exactly of success but of safety. Sailing vessels 
of light draft have been run down without injury, after years of 
service on Superior, and one small steamboat is now in Superior 
which formerly plied on the lower lakes, but I think that was 
taken up over land. ' Mackinac boats,' calculated for propul- 
sion by oars or light sails, of one to three feet draft, and of five 



116 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

to twenty tons' burthen, are wearily dragged with ropes up the 
less impetuous current by one or the other shore, and then run 
down by skillful navigators for the excitement and eclat of the 
adventure — a fool-hardy caper at best, which sometimes proves 
fatal to those engaged in it. The day before I reached the Saut 
on a second visit, in August, 1848, a heavy, hard-bitted boat, 
overloaded with nine Indian and white bare-brains, attempted 
this feat, but she struck a rock just under water when in full 
career, and pitched her human cargo first into the air and then 
into the foam, where three of them were drowned and some 
others fished out of the eddies below barely alive and utterly 
insensible. By prompt and efficient efforts they were resuscita- 
ted, and I presume they have since left the passage of the Saut 
to men who have bought their wit cheaper. 

I suspect the Saut St. Marie is the oldest existing aggregation 
of human dwellings on this continent — north of the city of 
Mexico at all events. As the easiest of fisheries, constantly 
visited by white-fish, trout and siskoweit from the three mighty 
lakes below with their intermediates and tributaries, it must have 
early won the Red Men to build their lodges on its banks, roam- 
ing, thence in quest of game through the dense forests around 
and the fair prairies lying beyond them in the south. The sugar 
maple abounds on either hand, and this, with the berries of the 
wood and the fish of the river, would afford to the hunter's wife 
the means of eking out a subsistence during his long' absences 
on the chase or on the war-path. Columbus, the Red Men's 
evil genius, laid bare this continent to European adventure and 
avarice, and, before the Mississippi was discovered or the Ohio 
traced to its mouth, French explorers, soldiers and missionaries 
had pitched their tents beside the fishers' cabins at the Saut. A 
century has nearly passed since French ascendency in this region 
was completely overthrown and supplanted, but French charac- 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 117 

ter and manners, more plastic and genial than the Anglo-Saxon, 
still hold their ground. The Catholic Church is, I think, the 
best attended of any at the Saut, and I fear I was the least 
edified of any among the worshipers within its walls on the 
Sabbath I attended it. Its frequenters, of Indian, French and 
intermediate origin, maintained a general demeanor of gravity, 
propriety and interest ; and the Latin Mass was quite as intelli- 
gible to them as it would have been to an Irish or Yankee con- 
gregation. Throughout the north-west, I believe the Catholic 
Missionaries, in spite of English and American domination, are 
the most successful of any in acquiring and maintaining an in- 
fluence over the minds of the untutored Aborigines, though a 
philosopher would naturally anticipate that simple forms and less 
mysterious or recondite dogmas would secure their preference. 
I think, too, the Catholic Missionaries enjoy a general reputation 
of superiority in talents, while all are men of exemplary char- 
acter and earnest devotion. If not, why should they have thus 
buried themselves for life in a hyperborean wilderness? 

The Saut is now a cosmopolite village. The Red Man has 
been superseded in dominion by the French ; they by the Eng- 
lish ; and the latter, so far as the southern shore is regarded, by 
the Americans ; while ' the meteor flag ' still waves over the 
smaller though older village on the north bank, which is deeply 
indented by a bay at the foot of the fall, whence, I understand, 
the route for a ship canal into the lake above is decidedly shorter 
than that on the American side — easier it hardly could be, since 
a mill-race was formerly cut through the whole extent on our 
side by a small body of United States troops posted here, merely 
in order to turn a mill for the grinding of their grain into flour. 
The mill long since vanished, but the race remains, showing the 
feasibility of a canal which would open the great reservoir above 
to the thousand keels now plying on the lower lakes, greatly 



118 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

diminishing the cost of transportation, and in effect bringing the 
Superior region a fourth nearer the seaboard than it now is. 
The cost of such a canal, of ample size and thoroughly con- 
structed, would be Half a Million of Dollars ; its value to the 
Nation would be many Millions. It cannot much longer remain 
a project unexecuted. 

But I linger too long at the Saut. Farewell, ye swamps of 
evergreen, stretching interminably southward from the Fall! 
Adieu, Indian huts and whisky-selling cabins, the latter more 
numerous than the private dwellings, lining the level road on 
our side from the foot to the head of the fall ! I did my best to 
cripple your deadly traffic by a Temperance Address to full half 
the people of the place, while I was with you ; but, I apprehend, 
you can well afford to forgive me that. The River of Alcohol 
that flows down the throats of the savage or semi-savage thou- 
sands who here obtain their annual, only glimpse of civilization, 
is still broad enough, impetuous enough, to drown all hopes of 
their speedy disenchantment from the infernal sorcery which is 
rapidly destroying them, mind, body and estate — and what more 
can a rum-seller, what more could a demon desire ? 

The means of conveyance on Lake Superior are yet primitive 
— they were more so in 1817-8. The solitary Propeller where- 
in we took passage from the Saut had no genius for rapid loco- 
motion, even in good weather ; in the other sort she very pro- 
perly refused to go at all, unless driven by the wind and waves. 
She had a rival on the lake — the steamboat already mentioned ; 
but she was older and more dubious than the propeller. The 
two started together on a dull, hazy June morning, favored by 
a raw, heavy east wind, which soon blew up a driving rain , the 
counterpart of an April north-easter on the coast of New-Eng- 
land ; and this closed, during the succeeding night, with a smart 
gale from the west, wherein the schooner Merchant, which left 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 119 

the Saut with us, conveying a military company of fifteen per- 
sons, went down with all on board, and was never again heard 
of. This storm caused us to miss the Pictured Rocks, one of 
the lions of the lake, situated on Grand Island, in the south-east 
quarter, and so out of the path of vessels passing up the lake. 
Not having seen the Rocks, I shall not attempt to describe 
them. 

You cannot see Lake Superior from the Saut — only a circuit- 
ous strait or bay leading thence and gradually narrowing down 
to the width of the outlet I have described. Not till you have 
passed White Fish Point, thirty to forty miles up, does the lake 
open to your gaze in its vastness and solitary grandeur. Thence 
you soon pass out of sight of land and sail on for hours and 
hours, alone with God and the mirrors of His immensity in the 
transparent depths above, around, beneath. I have traversed the 
lake in storm and calm ; the latter is by far the more sublime. 
The mighty ocean is a tumbling chaos, but here is a serene 
creation. A sail is rarely descried as yet ; the fish are quiet in 
their depths far below, disdaining the vain displays of the por- 
poises and dolphins of the brine ; few birds inhabit these shores, 
and rarely one, unless it be birds of passage, in their annual 
migrations, ever darken its depths with their flitting shadows. 
Beside your bark and its contents, nothing of man or his doings 
is visible or suggested as you pursue your trackless way. 

The waters of this lake never forget their proximity to the 
Arctic circle. Though their great depth and volume prevent 
their freezing, except for a few miles next the shore, yet the 
same influences prevent their yielding to the sun's summer fervor 
as well, and, though the fair days of July and August are as hot 
on its shores as in New- York, yet an experienced navigator of 
Superior observed in my presence that he never knew a hot day 
thereon. Even without wind, the evaporation from her cold 



120 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

bosom counteracts and baffles all the power of Sol's fiercest 
rays. The melting of ice over a vast body of water scarcely 
less cold than ice is a tedious operation, and the spring is later 
by weeks than it would be if the lake were not here, as, on the 
other hand, the winters are less rigorous. Winter is preceded, 
in September and the fore part of October, by the loveliest In- 
dian summer ever known ; which is followed by storms, first of 
rain, then of snow, in rapid succession, until thirty feet of snow, 
by actual measurement, have often fallen in November and 
December, covering the earth with six to eight feet, well packed 
down — the result, perhaps, of thirty days' steady snowing out 
of the sixty. By this time, the water of the lake has been 
chilled to something like the temperature of the air above it ; 
evaporation slacks off, and a season of fair, steady, but not ex- 
treme cold succeeds. The mercury in the Fahrenheit's ther- 
mometer often stands nearly at zero for weeks without once fall- 
ing much below that point. The spring's approach is heralded 
by prodigious rains, very similar in extent and duration to the 
snows of early winter, whereby the ice of the lake and the 
snowy mantle of earth are gradually wasted away, leaving 
a tenacious residuum of ice beneath the evergreens of the 
swamps and lower grounds generally. The soil is thus saturated 
like a sponge for a couple of months, to the serious impediment 
of mining and nearly every other branch of industry. The 
lake slowly yields its ice, but continues obstinately cold, covering 
the surrounding country with frosts up to a late period in June. 
I first landed at Eagle Harbor on the 15th of June, and the 
following night ice formed there to the depth of a quarter of an 
inch. Ten days before, fresh ice had formed over a part of the 
harbor, of such thickness as seriouly to cut and deface the sides 
of a small schooner that was impelled through it. And all 
through the summer, though the fair days are abundantly hot, 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 121 

the succeeding nights are so cool that the gnats and mosketoes, 
though horribly plenty and savagely blood-thirsty by day, are 
absolutely quiet and inocuous after night-fall, and I do not be- 
lieve a mosketo ever hummed after dark in any cabin within 
miles of Lake Superior. The blessedness of this dispensation 
none but the infinitely bitten can appreciate. 

I thought till I tried that the common report of the impossi- 
bility of bathing in the waters of this lake was an exaggeration ; 
so, during my second visit, late in August, 1848, I determined to 
test it. Stealing away alone to a cove in which the transparent 
lymph gradually deepened from the shore outward, I disrobed 
and walked in ; but common rumor was right and my skepti- 
cism wrong. For a short distance, the cold was endurable ; but 
at the depth of five feet it stung like a hornet — and this on the 
25th of August. After a very brief essay, I traveled shoreward 
and gave it up. Let the lake be entirely still through a long, 
bright day, and the sun's rays will warm into endurability the 
contents of some of the shallow bays of shining sand ; but the 
water of the lake generally was never warm enough for bath- 
ing, and never will be this side of the general conflagration. 

Two hundred miles or over due west from the Saut is Point 
Keewenaw or Kee-wai-wenon, the terminus of a promontory 
which bears its name, with the little isle Manitou and two or 
three surrounding rocks jutting out into the lake in a direct line 
beyond it. The Point or promontory is thrown out north-east- 
ward obliquely from the southern or American shore of the lake, 
from which it bears much like the thumb from a human hand 
held naturally open. Between the Point and the main land S. 
S. E. of it is of course a deep bay, having an Indian village 
known as L'Ance at its head, with a Catholic and a Methodist 
Mission, a United States blacksmith, &c, &c. Here is a saw- 
mill and some cultivation. The potatoes grown at L'Ance (and 



122 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

indeed any where about the lake) are capital, their only fault is 
that they are too few. They ought to be planted in the fall, 
so as to vegetate before the saturated earth can be made ready 
to receive them in the spring, by which course they are pretty 
surely allowed to ripen before the serious frosts of early Septem- 
ber. The yield of all roots suited to the climate is very good, 
but winter grains are smothered by the deep snows, and Indian 
corn cannot abide the short summers and chilly nights. I be- 
lieve some has been grown to be eaten green on the Ontonagon, 
to the south-west ; but all the stalks I saw on the Point looked 
as if frightened out of their growth by nightly dreams of a hard 
winter at hand. They remind me of the mathematical defini- 
tion of a line — extension without breadth — the length (two or 
three feet) being rendered remarkable only by the absence of 
breadth. Grasses and the spring-sown grains will yet flourish 
here ; fruits never. 

I once offended an old sea-captain with whom I was travel- 
ing by stage, and who had beguiled a part of the way with 
sea-yarns, by volunteering one of Lake Superior in turn — for 
though I had not then seen the mother of lakes, she was and 
had long been a theme of interest and wonder to me. My 
story was of Capt. Ben. Stannard, a pioneer in her civilized 
navigation, who, in the absence of charts, buoys, bells, light- 
houses, &c, &c, which are yet very scanty but twenty years 
ago were unknown, used to employ his rifle during a dense, 
protracted fog in lieu of compass and quadrant, firing it at inter- 
vals and judging by some peculiarity of the reverberation from 
the hills bordering the lake on his practiced ear how near to 
and on what part of the coast his vessel was. My captain felt 
insulted that I should think of putting such a story on him for 
a fact ; yet as such I had received and still credit it. I won't 
say how efficient or reliable this rifle observation may have 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 123 

been ; but I can easily credit a resort to it by a reacty, ingenious 
Yankee, thoroughly befogged on a jagged, rock-bound coast, 
yet perfectly familiar with every crook and turn of that coast, 
if he could only see it, and acquainted also with the influences 
of proximity or remoteness, eminence or depression, in modify- 
ing the reverberations aforesaid. But, perceiving no adequate 
motive for risking the extra disfigurement of my visage, I tacit- 
ly yielded the point to my testy captain, lapsing into moody 
silence. 

Point Keewenaw, though but a few miles across, and almost 
separated from the main land by a chain of lake and outlet, is 
traversed by the 6 Little Montreal ' and c Eagle ' rivers, as they 
are termed, being decent mill-streams only, with many smaller 
rivulets. No part of earth is more beautifully nor more bounti- 
fully watered, whether from clouds above or springs beneath. 
From the outward or north-western shore the hills rise in the 
course of two to four miles to an altitude of five to eight hun- 
dred feet, sending down at intervals of not many rods sparkling, 
brawling torrents of the purest cold water, warranted a health- 
ful beverage for man or beast. Through this range 4 Eagle 
River ' makes its way, turning from east to south, and falling 
into the lake some twenty miles from the extreme Point, while 
the Little Montreal follows its southerty base and falls into the 
lake or bay several miles south of the Point. The valley of 
each, though elevated, is in good part level and arable, well 
timbered with sugar maple, white pine, black birch, &c, with 
hemlock, black ash, &c, on the level wet grounds. On their 
gentler tributaries, above the decaying beaver-dams which be- 
speak their origin, are frequently seen small meadows, whence 
the traveler, after long and tiresome wanderings in the en- 
shrouding forest, obtains welcome views of the clear blue hea- 
vens, which seems nearer here than elsewhere. An autumn day 



124 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

in these forests, the rank wild grass of the meadows waving m 
the gentle breezes, with glimpses of the blue lake at intervals 
as you emerge upon the north-west side of the eminences, is not 
to be disdained by an emperor. The lake, though three miles 
away, and six hundred feet below you, seem but a few steps 
off, quiet and shining like a kingdom of rock crystal. " They 
get up superb storms here in their season," coolly remarked my 
companion, as I silently contemplated the prospect with which 
he was familiar. I could not contradict him. 

The Mines are of course the great feature of Lake Superior, 
but I shall not here describe them. The Iron region lies near 
the coast, sixty to eighty miles E. S. E. of the Point, and its 
hills of ore not surpassed as to quantity or quality by any in 
the world. Their working has barely begun, and at a period 
unfavorable to their rapid development. Of the Copper Mines, 
the most productive as yet are those near Eagle River on the 
Point, which yielded over one thousand tons of pure copper 
in 1849. Those on the Ontonagon are hardly opened yet, but 
are said to be not less promising. But what reader of an An- 
nual will care to descend with me, candle in hand, the slender, 
slippery stair-rounds of a mine, with dirty water dripping on 
his head and the dark ooze hitting him at every turn, and the 
comfortable assurance that any misstep or giving way would 
probably land him in eternity 1 No, the Cliff Mine (the only 
one fairly opened) is a wonder, with its immense galleries blast- 
ed out of the solid rocks down to hundreds of feet below, not 
merely the foot of the cliff but the bed of the creek, and still 
going down, down, toward the nadir. Clink, clink, sounds the 
sledge on the drill-head or the cold-chisel, far down in those 
cavernous recesses, where roughly accoutred men are moving 
about like ghosts (if ghosts carry lighted candles) in the far pro- 
found, while hoarse voices are ordering hither and thither, and 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 125 

every few moments the cry of warning followed by the roar 
of a blast break the monotony of this ten-story cavern. And 
there lies the dull yellow metal, blasted down after the patient 
removal of some feet of the rock beside it, in masses of one to 
fifty tons, the larger being slowly, laboriously cut into man- 
ageable pieces by long, sledge-driven chisels, and then hauled 
up to daylight exactly as nature fused it — a mighty column of 
mingled copper and quartz, reaching from the surface down, 
down beyond the scope of conjecture, — here nine-tenths quartz 
and there seven-eighths copper, fit to be run into cannon or 
coined into cents on the instant. The world has many marvels, 
but you must travel far to find the counterpart of the Mines of 
Lake Superior. 

Perhaps the most striking feature of this mineral region is the 
unconscious testimony it bears to the truth of Solomon's apo- 
thegm that, essentially, c There is nothing new under the sun.' 
The pioneer lands on a wild and rugged coast, bearing no trace 
of human labor or residence save that of the few idle savages 
now departed who from time immemorial barely subsisted with 
difficulty in certain widely scattered localities on the products 
of their rude fisheries and the far scantier products of the chase 
— for these fruitless, nutless, almost berryless woods, with their 
six months' drapery of engulphing snows, famishing or repel- 
ling nearly every animal but the rabbit, can never have been 
a favorite haunt of game. Debarking at some point convenient 
to his contemplated destination, the pioneer c prospects ' or care- 
fully explores the woods for miles in every direction, but espe- 
cially the faces of cliffs and all abrupt declivities where the rocks 
in position are exposed, for traces of mineral veins, which, 
being found, he proceeds to open by digging, drilling and blast- 
ing, so as to determine as soon as may be whether they, or any 
of them, will probably justify the heavy expense of opening 



126 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

in due form, by shaft and drift in the hard trap-rock. Probably 
the first, second, and even third essay results in disappointment ; 
the vein is thin and poor ; the rock, which was fair amygdaloid 
at the outset, changes to conglomerate or green-stone, or a 
tough, leathery, chloritic trap in which mineral veins will not 
hold, but thin out as he descends to a mere trace, not worth the 
powder required to open them. But at length — and it may not 
be the first year, nor the second — he strikes a vein of the right 
sort, widening rather than narrowing as it descends in a nearly 
perpendicular direction, with walls of the genuine trap clearly 
defined, while the vein-stone itself is unequivocal quartz, di- 
versified by prehnite and crystals, with traces of silver and 
an abundance of native copper, showing a tendency to form 
masses, even within a few feet of the surface. Joy! joy! 
the miner's heart dilates and exults with all the pleasure and 
pride of another Columbus. But hold ! what is that indenta- 
tion in the earth's surface just above and below and in line 
with his rude excavation ? It seems as if cut by a mountain 
rivulet, yet no water courses through it, and upland trees grow 
giant-like in it's sides and bed. No, it is no water- worn channel, 
but the bed of an ancient excavation, which time, gravitation 
and the ever-active elements have so nearly filled up — a place 
where copper was worked for and obtained before Solomon 
wrote Proverbs or Samson smote the Philistines. Cut down the 
venerable trees — they are as stately and as gnarly there as any 
where — dig out their roots, throw out the earth which has 
slowly tumbled or crumbled in, and you will come at length to 
the rock bottom and sides, with the yellow mineral gleaming 
through the former, surrounded by stone boulders of a peculiar 
hardness, unlike any thing originating in the neighborhood, and 
evidently brought from a distance to be used as hammers in 
liberating the copper from the enclosing rock— each boulder 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 127 

having an incision or ring laboriously cut around it to retain 
the withe or handle whereby it was unquestionably wielded 
and impelled. There are indications that the ancient miners 
employed fire (having no powder) to overcome the stubborn 
resistance of the enclosing trap, probably heating it intensely 
hot by burning logs, and then dashing on water to calcine or 
crack it. A few scraps and implements of copper were lost 
or left by them, leaving no doubt of the nature or drift of their 
operations. In one place, a giant mass of solid copper, of sev- 
eral tons' weight, after having vainly resisted all their efforts to 
separate or fuse it, was left in their excavation as impracticable 
and useless — a windfall to their successors of our day — after 
having obviously cost many of the primitive miners the labor 
of months if not years. 

But I grow tedious. Adieu ! mighty reservoir of waters, the 
purest, the clearest, the coldest, within the dominion of civili- 
zed man. I thank the good Providence that enabled me to see 
thee in thy native, solitary grandeur and beauty, before the 
swiftly approaching tread of Industry and Commerce shall have 
covered thy bosom with sails and smoke-pipes, disrobed thy 
shores of their all-embracing forests, supplanting them with 
grass and vegetables, filling thy ports with the hum of thrifty 
Traffic and the manly tones of the anchor-lifting seamen's 
chorus. Around the mouths of those prolific mines shall gather 
larger and larger villages of hardy miners, daily sending up 
from sunless recesses a thousand )^ards below even the lake's 
blue surface the inexhaustable treasures of this Sweden of the 
New World. Who shall then know or care — indeed, what 
will it matter ? — that I, a tired wanderer from the city's cease- 
less strife, once roamed along these shores, patiently turning 
over the pebbles and sand, just above the line of the breaking 



128 LAKE SUPERIOR. 

waves, in search of agates and cornelians, or joyously gather- 
ing in autumn the red berries of the mountain ash, and all 
for thee, dear son of my heart! polar summer of my rug- 
ged life ! then so anxiously awaiting me in our distant cot- 
tage home, as now more calmly in the radiant Land of Souls. 
God keep me worthy of thy love and presence through the 
weary years, few or many, till I meet thee and greet thee in 
that world where the loving reunite to be parted no more for- 
ever ! 



THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 



BY MRS. E. JESSUP EAMES. 



CHAPTER I. 

HOME. 

Wine, wine thy power and praise 
Have ever been echoed in minstrel lays — 
But water I deem hath a higher claim 
To fill up a niche in the Temple of fame. 

u Home sweet Home ! " there is no place like it, be it ever 
so humble so long as it is a Temperance Home. Of course 
there are all sorts of homes, and there is a vast difference be- 
tween their merits, as we are too painfully made aware by 
contrast — Look on this picture, then on that! Fortunately it 
is the more favored of the two we are called upon to describe, 
and we repeat there is no place like the Temperance Home. 
We are almost sure to find health, happiness, prosperity, order 
and intelligence in a home, whose inmates have "taken the 



130 THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 

Pledge." Behold how good and pleasant it is to see them dwell 
together in unity. The Angel of Good sheds the incense dew 
of Heaven from his fanning pinions over the charmed circle of 
kindred, who united in the social bands of reciprocal love, are 
found moving harmoniously in their sphere of delighted duty. 
All gentle offices, and useful charities are practised here. Here 
in the quiet temple of Home is the exclusive shrine of the affec- 
tions ; and here are the household gods worshiped with a true 
devotion. Thrice blessed is the home, over which the pure 
genius of Temperance presides. 



CHAPTER II 



A RHAPSODY. 



And here's to Thee ! thou bright eyed and blooming Daugh- 
ters of Health, fair Temperance. Not in richly cut crystal — in 
golden and silver-chased goblets, of ruby, red and amber colored 
wine, do we pledge thee ; that were profanation indeed ! But 
in the purer, more delicious element that sparkles in the depth 
of streams, and shady springs, in the valley broklet, the meadow 
rill, and forest fountain. In such cooling nectar, as fills the per- 
fumed urn of the white water Lily — and the Iris-hued vase of 
the Tulip — in the crystal bowl of the Lotus, and the pretty 
globe of the Amaranth — in the fairy cup of the Bluebell — and 
the honey sweet chalice of the rich Rose Balm — in such conse- 
crated draughts only, is it meet that we pledge thee, O, loveliest 
of Water Nymphs ! And we challenge ye too, beautiful 
Creations of the Elder Time, whose birth was amid the fresh- 



, THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 131 

njess of the World ! Ye Fauns and Fays — bright dwellers by- 
sylvan streams — Oreades and Dryades of the Dorian Valley — 
Maid of the glossy fountain — Nymph of the waterfall — Come, 
one and all, ye long forgotten children of the Green Solitudes ! — 
Thou fountain lover of fair Arethusa ! and thou bright haired, 
and wayward Undine ! come from your Ocean caves, all ye 
bright lingerers, and join us in a cup of the life giving element, 
to our chosen friend Temperance ! 



CHAPTER III 



THE TRIBUTE 



All stainless in the holy white of thy pure appareling, thou 
goest forth, the meekly earnest messenger of Truth and Good- 
ness, — omnipotent in the cause of Virtue. Surely there was 
joy in Heaven, when thou wentest forth on thy great and God- 
like mission, and the rapturous chant of Angels followed thee, 
as encircled by thine own beaming and beautiful light, thou 
earnest (like the blessed bearer of glad tidings on the mountain 
tops,) with healing on thy wings for the nations of the earth. 

! firm and faithful Temperance on thy head 
Blessings of Heaven and earth, a thousand fold be shed ! 



132 THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 



CHAPTER IV. 

FATHER MATHEW. 

We were oblivious indeed to pass thee by unnamed, thou 
Savior and regenerator of hundreds and thousands of poor un- 
fortunates of both sexes ; victims to that cursed " drink" Deep, 
and pure, and living-, is the fountain thou hast stired, and mighty- 
are the gushings of its waters. Threading thy way to the sons 
and daughters of fallen humanity — how faithfully dost thou 
warn, how earnestly entreat, — how tenderly dost thou plead with 
those erring ones, who on the broad ocean of intemperance — 
have wrecked every prospect that brightened their better days. 
How eloquently thou persuaded those who tarry long at the 
wine, that it is a mocker : that strong drink is raging — that who 
so is deceived thereby is not wise. And in the solemn darkness 
and despair, that broods over the mental anguish of the stricken 
family, thou standest like an Angel of Mercy, administering the 
Pledge of peace, comfort and hope. Here in this Eden pic- 
ture before us — we behold traces of thy foot-prints, they have 
listened to thy words of " Truth and Soberness" and laid thy 
lessons to their hearts. Long be it thy peculiar mission to ele- 
vate the down-trodden spirituality of man's imbruted nature — 
to waken his blunted sensibility — to repair the beautiful moral 
edifice, that sin has made a ruin — and to restore unsullied to the 
altar, the Divine Image of the Creator. Truly the blessings of 
all who were ready to perish be on thee : — thou who, hast so 
nobly combatted with the great destroyer, the hydra headed 
monster, Drunkenness. 



THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 133 

CHAPTER V. 

THE TEMPERANCE HOME WITHOUT. 

This thank Heaven ! is no Drunkard's Home. No miserable 
falling hnt, with its weed grown patch of ground — its broken 
walls, — and rag stuffed windows. No idle inebriate of a hus- 
band whose reeling step, strikes sorrow and dismay to the hearts 
of his family : — no pale, grief- worn despairing wife — with a 
squalid brood of half starved, half clad children ! Thank 
Heaven I say — this Book has but one such Picture ! 

Let us pause awhile, and contemplate the scene that is spread 
without the Temperance Home. This is a pleasant enough 
looking place half hid in a grove of elm, maple and flowering 
ash ; with a richly-fruited orchard in the rear, and a gay flower 
garden in front. The surroundings betoken a family not rich, 
but possessing a competency, and everything wears the appear- 
ance that a well ordered temperance home should present. 

Climbing plants and creeping vines (for which the poets has 
no name) twine and twist in graceful profusion around the rustic 
pillars of the pretty porch, running over the long roof in every 
direction, and weaving above the attic windows, a green and 
fragrant curtain of leaves and blossoms. Roses and honey- 
suckles — the white clematis, and purple morning-glory, are 
tastefully trained along the front windows ; and the bright 
flower-beds beneath send up a " wilderness of sweets." 

Yonder is an arbor, built between two graceful weeping wil- 
lows, whose slender boughs with their silver-fringed tassels, meet 
over the arching roof. The purple and white fruited grapevine 
clusters along the trellised sides of the arbor, and within are 
disposed romantic seats of green and golden mosses. 



134 THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 

Farther on in a sunny spot among- the sweet clover, is ranged 
a row of bee hives — whose golden belted inmates, like their 
owners, "improve each shining hour." Mark how tastefully 
the little dove cotes are painted and perched among the trees : 
and those two milk-white lambs (pet ones, are they?) frisking 
and frolicking through the scented grass. To make the picture 
complete, — off there in the shade of the poplars, is a well — 
a real old fashioned well, with the " moss covered non-bound 
bucket " and all. Is it not the very poetry of rural life 1 



CH APTE R VI. 

FAMILY DEVOTION. 

Yes, one can very well see that this is a Temperance Home, 
but anxious as we are to make nearer acquaintance with its 
inmates, we could not think of disturbing the sanctity of their 
present position — 

For there serene in happy age 

Whose hope is from above, 
A Father communes with the page 

Of Heaven's recorded love. 
Pure falls the beam, and meekly bright 

On his grey holy hair, 
Touching the page with tenderest light 

As though its shrine were there. 
Some words of life, e'en now have met 

His calm benignant eye — 
Some Ancient Promise breathing yet 

Of Immortality. 



THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 135 

And silent bend his children by, 

Hushing their very breath 
Before the solemn sanctity 

Of thoughts o'er sweeping death. 

Surely if happiness is to be found on earth it is in a home 
like this, when the morning- and evening thanksgiving ascends 
to heaven — and where the bliss of its members is cemented 
by the renovating influences of piety, temperance and virtue. 
What a perfect picture of domestic bliss has the artist's pencil 
portrayed in this interesting group. Through the open window 
of this pretty family room, we can distinctly count them — ten 
in number. A large family indeed — but all well fed and cared 
for, as we can see. Those two little prattlers, each on a pa- 
rent's knee, are held for the better sake of quiet I dare say, 
while the two at the father's feet seem meek and devout lis- 
teners of the word. That tall slender boy beside his mother is 
her summer child — her darling he ! is 

Faithful and fond with sense beyond his years 
And natural piety that bears to Heaven. 

Then there are the parents, and grand parents — and Mabel too, 
ah ! — We must enter this privileged abode ; we have a particu- 
lar, and we hope a pardonable curiosity, to see the inside of this 
Temperance Home. 



136 THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE TEMPERANCE HOME WITHIN. 

Here we are then, in their very midst, and welcomed with 
the simple but sincere cordiality of people unfettered hj the 
shackles of artificial society — who never wear company faces, 
and set manners for reception days. If we were enchanted 
with the scene without, how is our admiration brightened by a 
closer survey within. 

It is true no costly luxuries adorn this rocm of the household ; 
no splendid paintings — no superb cases of gold and crimson 
bound books, decorate the smooth white walls; no expensive 
bijouterie — no magnificent modern furniture of any kind is 
here — only a few rare old prints, snug pictures and choice gems 
of literature, some rare shells and curious corals, that father 
brought from sea ; these with three or four simple pearl colored 
vases filled with fresh wood flowers, indicated the refined tastes 
of the occupants. Specimens of the industrial habits of the 
Temperance Home are to be seen in the tasteful chintz-covered 
settees, and the soft backed easy chairs, stuffed expressly for the 
elders — meantime these bright cushione seats of mosaic patch- 
work, claim our especial regard, because they are not too fine 
for use — and great is our relief that we can tread on the pretty 
green, home-made carpet without the fear of Wilton, or Brus- 
sels before our eyes ! That society basket of " work cut out," 
must be for the Daughters of Temperance, and this box of deli- 
cate embroidering must be Mabels', cousin Mabel of whom we 
would know more. — What a paradise of pure delight, is such a 
home ; where infancy, youth, manhood, and age are linked in 
one connecting chain of mutual affection. Surrounded by 



THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 137 

dutious and affectionate children, whose reverential care supplies 
every want and wish, of the aged patriarch, and his half cen- 
tury companion, they are waiting patiently till their change 
come. They have set a bright example of good works, through 
a long life of truth and soberness. 

Their work has well been done, 
Their race is nearly run. 

Their only surviving son, once a wild sailor youth (and some- 
thing more) returned to his home — took the pledge, and after 
one year's probation, a wife. He is proud of his position as a 
great temperance advocate abroad, and total abstinence at home. 
The neatness, order, harmony and prosperity that surrounds him 
are the fruits of his perseverance in well doing — his wife — ah, 
her price is far above rubies ! She opens her mouth with wis- 
dom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness — her children 
rise up and call her blessed, her husband also, he praiseth her ! 
— Sixteen years have they been man and wife, and years as 
happy for them as the most complete uprightness, and sobriety 
on his part, and the most perfect confidence, and loving submis- 
sion on hers could make them. Those cherry-cheeked urchins 
are one and all bright, intelligent, industrious, well-mannered 
children ; just such as one might expect to find in a well 
ordered home, and as had the happiness to be taught by a 
cousin Mabel. Yes, she is the childrens, good fairy ! Cousin 
Mabel is always doing something for their pleasure and profit — 
she sympathizes in all their little joys and sorrows — and is their 
refuge in times of trouble. She not only dresses the girls' dolls, 
and cuts paper figures for them, covers balls for the boys, and 
decorates their kites, but she takes part in their play out of 
doors. She is a dear good cousin Mabel, she is — and tells them 
such stories, not only in prose but poetry too : and above all 



138 THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 

there is one one beautiful ballad that they never weary of hear- 
ing, it is called " Mabel's song," and have we "ever heard it," 
" No" — then they will ask her presently, but now, will we look at. 



CHAPTER VIII 



COUSIN MABEL. 



0, yes ! to please the children we will look. That young 
girl there is Mabel, raven-haired Mabel ! with eyes " darker 
than the ash-buds," with the clear olive complexion ; the broad 
intellectual forehead ; the sculptured cheek and classic mouth. 
Mabel, with the still grace of a statue or the perfect form, and 
pensive face, and with such exquisite simplicity of attire, as well 
as demeanor, that one might deem the freshness and beauty of 
the early time had returned. Though there is, as one can see, 
nothing rustic about cousin Mabel ; on the contrary, she has 
that indescribable air of elegance and ease, which is the result 
of early intercourse with the most refined society. She is young 
too, not more than seventeen ; and, there is an expression not 
wholly sad, but touchingly subdued, on her clear calm face, as 
for some remembered sorrow, some former trial, passed away. 
We hope cousin Mabel is happy, as she ought to be, in her 
Temperance Home. 

We have made neither mystery nor romance of our simple 
theme, and have availed ourselves of none of the attractions 
of fiction, to embellish our picture ; for it has been our inten- 
tion more to point a moral than adorn a tale ; and while we 
would fain linger forever, were it possible, in a scene that has 



THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 139 

awakened our highest sense of pure and rational enjoyment, 
it is only left us to add our entreaties to these little coaxers — that 
cousin Mabel will, as a parting favor, gratify us by a recital of 
that " One beautiful Ballad." 



SffiABHILi'S BAILILABo 

A short and simple tale, dear friends, yet I will tell it you ; 

A simple tale of household love, and household sorrow too. 

I dwelt in a fine mansion once, a noble one to see, 

With parents and three brothers dear, a happy group were we. 

My father was a stern, proud man, not always stern to me ; 

For oft he strok'd my silken curls, and held me on his knee. 

My mother, she was very fair, like an Angel, sweet and mild, 

O, God! with what deep tenderness, her blue eye on me smil'd. 

My brothers three, were goodly youths, with spirits bold and free ; 

They loved me well, but most I loved, the youngest, twin with me. 

Our house was filled with company, a gay and jovial throng, 

The dice was thrown — and the wine — ah, me ! at the revel loud and 

long: 
My mother's gentle heart was wrung, 1 know it grieved her sore, 
But she might not check her husband's guests, and therefore she for- 
bore : 
But soon a time of trouble came — dark grew my father's eye, 
Now the cup was ever at his lips to drown his misery ! 
Still swifter did misfortune come — the brother twin with me 
Did pine away from day to day — until we saw him die. 
And then it was, I first observed my mother's hollow cheek, 
Her sunken eye, and wasted form, and her pleasant voice grew weak : 
One early morn I stole alone up to her quiet bed, 
As I kissed her icy lip and brow — I knew that she was dead ! 



140 THE TEMPERANCE HOME. 

Then loud was the outbreaking of my father's sudden grief, 

But he quenched it in the cursed drink ! and it made his sorrow brie£ 

Through this, my brothers turned out wild, and 'mid the profligate 

They crept into all evil ways — I know not now their fate ! 

Houses, and lands, and friends, were gone, and very poor were we, 

And father went from bad to worse, still drinking desperately ! 

It was a miserable time, of pain, and want, and woe ! 

And how the hopeless hours went on, I do not care to show : 

May God forgive me ! that I wept not when my father died 

A sudden death ! they brought him home one stormy eventide. 

My heart was heavy as a stone, as all night long I sate, 

And thought what awful household vice had made me desolate. 

But God gave mercy in my need ; my kindred heard of me, 

And bade me come and dwell with them, if I content would be. 

And I am comforted : though long the daughter of despair ; 

Amid these loving friends my grief pass'd like a dream of care. 

Even from these little ones I do such daily lessons learn, 

As might have saved my father's house, ah! how my heart doth 

yearn ! 
God's blessing and His holy peace, be on this house and hearth, 
For we have ta'en a solemn pledge, the mightiest on earth, 
Never to handle, touch, or taste, or put to human lips, 
The cup that works such woe, as doth all other woes eclipse : 
Thrice blessing, and thrice blest are we, whatever ills may come, 
The heavy curse of Drunkenness haunts not the Temperance Home. 



THE SPARKLING BOWL. 

BY REV. J. PIERPONT. 

Thou sparkling Bowl ! thou sparkling bowl ! 
Though lips of bards thy brim may press ; 
And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll, 
And song and dance thy power confess, 
I will not touch Thee ! for there clings 
A Scorpion to thy side, that stings 1 

Thou Crystal glass ! Like Eden's Tree, 

Thy melted ruby tempts the eye, 

And, as from that, there comes from thee, 

The Voice, " Thou shalt not surely die," 

I dare not lift thy liquid gem, 

A snake is twisted round thy stem ! 

Thou liquid fire ! like that which glowed 
On Merita's surf beaten shore, 
Thou'st been upon my guests bestowed, 
But thou shalt warm my house no more ! 
For, wheresoe'er thy radiance falls, 
Forth from thy hea' a viper crawls. 



142 THE SPARKLING BOWL. 

What Thou of gold the goblet be, 
Embossed with branches of the vine, 
Beneath whose burnished leaves we see 
Such clusters as poured out the wine, 
Among those leaves an adder hangs ! 
I fear him ; — for I've felt his fangs. 

The Hebrew, who the desert trod, 
And felt the fiery serpent's bite, 
Looked up to that ordained of God, 
And found that life was in the sight 
So. The worm bitten's fiery veins 
Cool, when he drinks what God ordains. 

Ye gracious clouds ! Ye deep cold wells ! 
Ye gems, from mossy rocks that drip ! 
Springs, that from Earth's mysterious cells 
Gush o'er your granite basin's lip., 
To you I look; — Your largess give, 
And I will drink of you, and live. 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

BY REV. J. TOWNLEY CRANE, M. A. 

On the Euphrates, about four hundred miles from the Persian 
Gulf, a singular scene is spread before the wondering" eye of the 
traveler. The majestic river winds through an extended plain. 
In some places, its banks are fringed with groves of the palm 
and the tamarisk, and thickets of the oleander, and in others by 
extensive marshes, where the bittern utters its mournful note, 
and the heron builds her nest among the thick reeds. As the 
voyager advances against the sluggish stream, he observes upon 
the left, or western shore, an object which at once arrests his 
attention. In the midst of a barren plain, an uncultivated 
waste, rises an immense mound. Its circumference is nearly 
half a mile ; and its height, at the point of greatest elevation, 
is about two hundred feet. On its top stands a pile of masonry, 
apparently the ruins of some lofty edifice. The traveler com- 
mands his Arab boatmen to bring the vessel to the shore. 
Though they obey, yet they are evidently reluctant ; for, from 
time immemorial, superstition has pointed to this spot as the 
haunt of evil spirits, and the wandering Arabs fear to pitch 



144 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

their tents there, or to linger within its borders, especially after 
nightfall. As the traveler begins to ascend, with much labor, 
the hill before him, he finds the whole to be a massive ruin, 
deeply channeled by the storms of centuries, and strewn with 
fragments of brick, sandstone and marble. Here and there, the 
strata of well laid walls appear, and all around are pieces of 
broken pottery, and other indications that this lonely heap was 
once swarming with human life. The summit of the mound is 
covered with fragments of shattered walls, tumbled in immense 
heaps, and fused together as if they had felt the power of some 
fearful conflagration. On the side farthest from the river, the 
solid pile of brick work rises above the surrounding ruin, as the 
sentinel of desolation ; and its broken jagged top shows that it 
is only the remains of a loftier structure. The fine bricks of 
which it is composed are covered with characters which no learn- 
ing is able to decipher, and which hold in eternal silence, the 
story of those whose hands traced their ever during lines. 

From this momento of human labor, the traveler casts his eyes 
south and west, and beholds a wide plain, whose solitude is 
broken only by a chance cluster of the black tents of the wand- 
ering sons of Ishmael. But to the north and east mounds rise, 
and uneven ridges stretch along the plain, heaped here and 
there with piles of bricks, as if remains of fallen buildings. 

Here, then, if history tells a sure tale, or if tradition be in 
any wise worthy of regard, stood, three thousand years ago, the 
mighty city of Babylon. These mounds are the vestiges of her 
fallen grandeur, her palaces and her temples, and these length- 
ened heaps mark the course of her broad avenues. A nation's 
dust is under our feet. What utter desolation reigns, where more 
than a million of human beings once had their home. Miles in 
length, and miles in breadth, the ruins lie beneath the eye of 
the thoughtful observer, as he views the scene from the top of 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 145 

Birs Nimrod, as the roving Arabs call the mound first described. 
"But another mound, at the distance of six or seven miles to the 
north, across the Euphrates, is the most striking object in sight. 
This, too, is a massy ruin. The fallen walls are in some places 
composed of burned brick, and in others, of bricks dried in the 
sun, having a layer of straw or reeds, cemented with bitumen, 
between the courses. In one part of the summit are. the ruins 
of a tower. The declivities of the mound are furrowed deeply 
by the rains; and the water, sinking down among the fallen 
walls, has washed out cavernous depths, in which poisonous ser- 
pents lurk, and beasts of prey make their dens ; and where owls 
and bats hide themselves from the sun. The scattered bones of 
animals lie among fragments of alabaster vessels, and fine earth- 
enware ; and the hyena iias his den, and utters his startling wail 
in the chambers of royalty. This mound, with its wall, and 
tower, and solitary tamarisk, is named by the wanderers of the 
desert Mujelibe, or the " Place of Captivity." It may have 
been a palace erected for their lords, by the captive bands of 
Judah, when by the rivers of Babylon they sat down ; and wept 
when they remembered Sion. Here was once disinterred a 
coffin of wood, containing human bones ; and here, too, curious 
explorers from a distant land uncovered a colossal lion of stone, 
which once perchance, stood in the halls of Semiramis. 

But let us roll back the wheels of Time, through twenty-five 
centuries, and view the city in its original grandeur. Babylon 
the Great, " the Golden City," the " Lady of Kingdoms," 
" the Beauty of the Chaldees excellency," was built upon both 
sides of the Euphrates, and surrounded by a wall two hundred 
cubits high, and so thick that it might have furnished a course 
for the chariot races, were it not that towers, at intervals along 
its broad top, broke the level, while they imparted additional 
grandeur to the massy structure. The city was twelve miles 

10 



146 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

square, and the wall upon each of the sides was pierced by 
twenty-five portals, the ponderous gates of which were of solid 
brass. The western half of the city boasted the temple of Belus, 
whose fame has reached all ears. This wonderful structure was 
a furlong in length, and lifted itself to the enormous height of 
four hundred cubits. From various circumstances, antiquarians 
have inferred that it was built upon the foundation of the great 
tower, wherewith the sons of men, in the plains of Shinar, 
thought to set a second deluge at defiance. The tower of Belus 
was constructed of bricks, cemented with bitumen ; and so 
durable have the materials proved, that the bricks, marked with 
inscriptions in the ancient Semitic tongue, may be seen in vast 
quantities to this day ; and even the reeds and palm leaves laid 
between the courses, are as fresh as if the storms of a few years, 
instead of those of twenty-five centuries, had fallen upon them. 
Instead of flights of steps, the dizzy height was ascended by 
a sloping terrace, winding round the outside, up and down, 
which beasts of burden, and even chariots, could pass. Upon 
the summit there was a magnificent shrine, or chapel, in which 
was a couch gorgeously adorned with gold and gems ; and be- 
fore this couch stood a golden table. The Chaldean priests 
taught the people that at night their God descended and reposed 
upon this couch. In another part of the temple was a golden 
statue, twelve cubits high, and of immense value. Before the 
door of the sacred apartment two altars were placed, upon which 
victims innumerable bled, and whence clouds of incense ascend- 
ed. The incense burned at one festival was valued at a thou- 
sand talents. In this temple was the treasure house of Bel, 
filled with the plundered wealth of the many cities which had 
been sacked by the conquering Nebuchadnezzar. Among these 
heaps of treasure, were the golden and silver vessels which had 
been taken from the temple of Jehovah at Jerusalem, when the 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 147 

warlike prince laid waste the Holy City and carried her children 
captive. 

. The banks of the Euphrates were connected by a bridge, and 
a tunnel ; and at each end of the bridge there was a royal palace. 
The New Palace, on the eastern or Kasdim side of the river, 
was a most magnificent structure. The wall which encompass- 
ed it was eight miles in circuit, and its lofty gates were " glori- 
ousty adorned." Here were the royal banqueting halls, with 
their hangings of the famed Babylonian purple, their tables of 
embossed silver, and their pavements of the marble of Mosul. 
Nothing could be more imposing than a festal scene in these 
ample apartments. Hundreds of Chaldean nobles, in costly 
and picturesque array, glittering with gems and embroidery, sat 
down to the feast. A crowd of slaves, every feature of whose 
sorrow stricken countenances told of the lineage of Abraham, 
were gliding to and fro, bearing sumptous viands, and goblets of 
wine, which they presented, as they knelt before their haughty 
lords. A thousand perfumed lamps glittered among the rows of 
stately columns and shed their radiance upon the gay throng. 
The air was laden with the odor of flowers, and strains of mel- 
ody, from unseen bands of musicians, floated through the cham- 
bers of mirth. Around the walls stood sculptured elephants 
and lions, of colossal size, intermingled with huge, mishappen 
images of Nebo, Nisroch, Derceto and Anammeleck, made of 
every variety of material. 

Near the hall of banquets, and connected with it by flights of 
marble steps, were the renowned hanging gardens. Terrace 
rose above terrace, till they surpassed in height the walls of the 
city. This " Pensile Paradise," as the Jewish historian styles 
it, was erected by king Nebuchadnezzar, to gratify his queen 
Amytis, who wearied of the unbroken plain of Babylonia, and 
pined to behold the green hills of her native Media. The arch 



148 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

being unknown, immense piers were erected, and joined at their 
summits, with broat flat stones. These again were covered with 
layers of bricks, cemented with bitumen. And upon the ter- 
races thus formed, earth was spread deep enough to sustain not 
only the orange, the fig-tree and the vine, but even the beauti- 
ful tamarisk, and the tall and graceful palm. Upon these dizzy 
heights, the queen could walk forth and breath the balmy air of 
the summer evening, and muse over the lovely scene, as the 
moon, the goddess to whom she idolatrously bowed, was pouring 
a flood of pearly light upon the lofty towers and proud palaces 
of Babylon, and turning the broad Euphrates into a stream of 
molten silver. The solitary tamarisk, which still stands upon 
one of the heaps of ruins, is fancied by the Arabs to be one of 
the trees which flourished in the gardens of Amytis ; and that it 
was miraculously preserved that the brave Ali might tie his 
war-horse to it, after the battle of Hillah. The mass of ruins 
which it crowns is called by them El-Kasr, or The Palace. 

The interest with which we survey these heaps of ruins is 
heightened by the tangled mass of fact and fable of which their 
history is woven. No name in ancient story falls upon the ear 
with a more familiar sound than that of Semiramis, the warlike 
Queen of Chaldea ; but when did she sway the sceptre ? The 
learned labor and dispute over their conflicting dates, and wan- 
der doubtingly over a misty interval of fifteen centuries. Tra- 
ditionary fables tell us that she was the daughter of the goddess 
Derceto ; and being abandoned by her mother in her infancy, 
she was adopted and nourished by a flock of doves. She be- 
came the wife of Ninus, the king of Assyria, and when he 
died, or, as some say, was murdered by her command, she seiz- 
ed the sceptre with a resolute hand. She built the city of 
Babylon, the magnificence of which almost transcends belief. 
Then, putting herself at the head of her army, she marched 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZA.R. 149 

in triumph through the nations, and added Ethiopia and Lybia 
to her dominions. She then planned the conquest of India, 
the land of gold ; but suffering a terrible defeat by the royal 
Stabrobates, she returned home, and being assassinated by her 
son, she was translated from earth, as it was asserted, in the 
form of a dove, and was seen no more. From this time, the 
Chaldean annals are filled with the names of sovereigns, whose 
united reigns are made to extend through twelve centuries, but 
whose whole line may be but a fable. The reliable history 
of the empire resumes with the names of Nabopolassar and 
Nebuchadnezzar, the latter of whom ascended the throne in 
the year 604 B. C. He reigned long and gloriously. He drove 
out the Syrians who had invaded his dominions. He captured 
Nineveh, the haughty rival of Babylon, and laid its glories low. 
He invaded Eg} r pt, humbled its monarch in the dust, and re- 
duced to his sway all the region between the Euphrates and 
the Nile. He then turned towards Judea, defeated its armies, 
entered Jerusalem in triumph, and returned home laden with 
the spoils of the Hoty Temple, and leading the Jewish king 
captive. He now resolved to beautify and adorn his capital. 
Palaces and towers rose beneath his hand, and with every addi- 
tion to the splendor of the mighty city, the monarch's heart 
swelled with new pride, till he could say, as he trod the lofty 
walls and looked abroad upon the work of his hands, " Is not 
this great Babylon, that I have built for the house of the king- 
dom, by the might of my power, and for the honor of my ma- 
jesty ?" 

But the proud monarch fell before one mightier than he, even 
the King of Terrors ; and the- saying went forth among his peo- 
ple that he, like Semiramis, had been conveyed away from 
earth, in a supernatural manner. His son, Evil-Merodach, 
ascended the throne, but soon perished by the dagger of the 



150 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

assassin. To him succeeded Belshazzar, who found himself 
the undisputed lord of an empire in the meridian of its splen- 
dor. He might have reigned with honor, and left a name hal- 
lowed in the memories of a grateful nation. But, alas ! he was 
an unworthy successor of the great Nebuchadnezzar. He loved 
wine. So intent was he on his degrading joys, that he even 
surrendered the reigns of government to his mother, Nitocris, 
that no serious occupation might disturb his dreams of indo- 
lence, or his pursuit of sensual pleasures. The wealth of king- 
doms was lavished on splendid pageants, and luxurious enter- 
tainments. The nobles of the empire crowded to the capital, 
not to consult concerning the common weal, but to revel in the 
halls of Semiramis. The ill-starred Belshazzar plunged deep, 
and deeper still, into the degrading joys of wine and effemi- 
nacy, till his limbs tottered beneath his weight, while his in- 
flamed countenance and bloodshot eye, spoke the monarch of 
Chaldea the slave of his passions and appetites. The courtiers 
were not slow in imitating their prince. Wine-bibbing and 
revelry reigned in the great city, " The Glory of Kingdoms." 
A historian, worthy of credit, assures us that " Every class of 
society was addicted to habitual intoxication." It corrupted the 
court ; it turned the halls of justice into scenes of mockery and 
oppression ; it added to the rank licentiousness which marked 
the vile worship of the vile gods ; and even in the camp, where 
discipline and rigor should be found, it stole away the skill of 
the general and the strength of the soldier. 

But while the " Mighty Prince of Bel" and his wine-loving 
courties were drowning their manhood in the cup of the drunk- 
ard, a new power was rapidly rising in the East. The Medes 
and the Persians Avere beginning to gather might. The soldiers 
of Iran and Azerbijan, led on by the great Cyrus, were sweep- 
ing all before them. At the sound of their rushing horsemen, 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 151 

their chariots of war, and the stately march of the solid masses 
of their steel-clad infantry, nations were dismayed, and kings 
threw their crowns in the dust, and humbly sued for peace. 
This army was not composed of the effeminate children of 
luxury, but of the hardy sons of toil, fresh from the mountains 
of the north. Like a strong-winged eagle from their native 
hills, they swept down upon the prey. Their general, too, 
had gained strength of arm in his youthful conflicts with the 
panther and the lion ; and he was taught wisdom and temper- 
ance by the workings of his own powerful intellect. A little 
incident of his boyhood, as related by Xenophon, will illustrate 
the character of this noble son of Iran. 

When he was about the age of twelve years, he with Man- 
dane his mother, was summoned to the court of Astyages, his 
grandfather, a prince of Media. "0 Sire," said the youthful 
Cyrus, one clay, as they were seated at the banquet, " command 
this Sacian cup-bearer to give me the goblet, that I may show 
how well I can serve you." The king, amused at the request, 
assented, and the cup was placed in his hand. Cyrus, having 
received it, assumed a grave countenance, and very gracefully 
handed it to his grandfather, and then, laughing, threw himself 
into his arms, exclaiming, " 0, Sacian, thou art undone, and I 
shall have thy office ! For I gave the cup in better style than 
thou : besides, I did not drink the wine ! " It appears to have 
been a common custom for the butlers of kings, when they pre- 
sented the cup to their masters, to pour out a little of the con- 
tents into their left hand, and drink it, to show that no treachery 
had infused poison into the cup, in hope of destroying a tyrant 
or a rival. Astyages, remarking Cyrus' omission of this cere- 
mony, inquired the reason : " Wherefore, Cyrus, didst thou 
not taste the wine?" "Because, by Leus," replied the boy, 
" I was afraid that there was poison mingled with the wine. 



152 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

When thou didst feast thy friends upon thy birth-day, I saw 
plainly, Sire, that this wicked Sacian was poisoning- you." 
" Child," asked the king, " how didst thou know this 1 " " By 
the effects," answered Cyrus, " I saw you tottering in body and 
in mind. What you had forbidden us children to do, those very 
things you did yourselves. You all clamored at the same time, 
each knowing nothing of what the others were saying. And 
then you sang, in a most ridiculous manner. Nobody listent d : 
but each swore that he sang better than all the rest. Then, 
boasting of your skill, you all rose up to dance : but you were 
not only unable to dance according to the measure, but even 
to keep yourselves from falling. And you and your servants, 
alike, wholly forgot that 3^ou were a king." 

But Cyrus was now a man, his acute mind trained to thought, 
and his vigorous body inured to toil. And this was the general, 
who, in carrying on his schemes of conquest, led his veterans 
against the voluptuous Belshazzar, and his effeminate troops. 
They met in the open field; and, the result was such as all 
must rationally have anticipated. The Chaldean army defeat- 
ed again and again, was melting away before the lance of the 
Mede, and the scimetar of Persia, like snow-drifts beneath the 
sunbeams. The wine-loving Belshazzar, seeing nothing before 
him but continued defeat and ultimate ruin, in this warfare, 
gave up the plains to the spoiler, and took refuge within the 
mighty walls of his capital, " The Golden City." 

Cyrus pressed on, with his powerful army, to the gates of 
Babylon, and showed his determination to lay her pride and 
splendor low. He stormed the brazen gates with his engines. 
He cut down the palm trees of the plain, and reared lofty 
towers, to over-top the walls ; and tried all the modes of assault 
known to ancient warfare. But all was in vain. The massive 
gates were unbroken, and the walls still towered in their solid 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 153 

strength. The citizens of the " Pride of the Kingdoms," could 
take their walks of pleasure upon their proud battlements, and 
scan, with curious eye, but careless heart, the camp of their 
foes spreading far and wide, and covering the earth like a cloud. 
From then inaccessible heights, they shouted defiance, as they 
saw the masses of infantry, clad in burnished armor, and drawn 
out in long array ; or, as their eyes were dazzled by the brilliant 
lines of the cavalry of Media. 

They felt secure. Why should they fear'? They had a 
numerous garrison. Provisions for twenty years were stored up 
in the granaries of the city ; and the space enclosed by the 
walls was so vast, that a considerable portion could be cultiva- 
ted, should any emergency demand it. The extensive parks of 
the nobles could be made so productive, that no famine need be 
dreaded, though the siege should last a generation. Belshazzar, 
and his court, his army and his people, were so well satisfied 
with their defences that they seem to have banished all concern. 
They still pursued pleasure, and spent their days and nights in 
revelry. The songs of musicians and the lascivious perform- 
ances of the dancing girls, still graced their feasts, and wine 
flowed as freely as ever. The army of the foe apparently labor- 
ed for naught. Month after month wore slowly away in the 
prosecution of the seemingly hopeless task, until two years were 
gone ; and proud Babylon still lifted its palaces and towers to 
the heavens, and stood unmoved upon her foundations. 

Bat a new mode of assault now suggests itself to the active 
mind of the great Persian. While Nitocris swayed the sceptre, 
she had connected the two sides of the river, within the city by 
a bridge which spanned the rolling waters, and a tunnel lying 
beneath their bed. In order to construct these works, the 
waters of the Euphrates had been drawn from their channel 
into an excavation made above the city to receive them. When 



154 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

the tunnel was completed, the stream was turned back into its 
former place, and the artificial lake, after a time, became dry. 
The query presents itself to the mind of Cyrus — Cannot the 
Euphrates be diverted from its bed again ? If the waters were 
gone, would not the passages beneath the walls afford an en- 
trance into the city 1 But the enterprise is fraught with danger. 
The banks of the river, within the city, are defended by strong 
walls and gates of brass, guarded by bodies of soldiery. If he 
were to enter the city thus, would he not be discovered while 
marching in the miry bed of the river? And would not dis- 
covery and consequent attack be defeat and utter ruin % And 
then, again, are not the armies of Babylon mightier at the feast, 
than in the field ? Is not the Prince of Bel a lover of wine, a 
drunkard ? And is not the Feast of Bel at hand, when all 
the city runs mad with riot, and is drowned in wine ? 

The probabilities seem to favor the project. At all events, 
the daring Cyrus resolves to adopt it. He sends a detachment 
of troops to the canal which leads into the lake, and gives them 
orders to break down the dam, at a given signal. Another 
strong detachment is stationed where -the river flows beneath 
the wall into the city, and a third where it emerges again ; and 
each general of division has orders to enter the city as soon as 
the failing stream becomes fordable. Night, the night of mirth, 
feasting and revelry, drew on. As the last rays of the setting 
sun faded from the summit of the Temple of Belus, lights innu- 
merable flashed out from palace and festive hall ; and the whole 
city was astir with the noisy carnival of heathenism, and the 
unclean rites of Nergal, Bel, and the " Tents of the Daugh- 
ters." Careless multitudes were thronging the broad avenues, 
on their way to the banquet, the shrines of the gods, or the 
haunts of dissipation. The merry sound of the tabret, and the 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 155 

softer notes of the dulcimer, were heard on every side, mingled 
with mirthful converse, or thoughtless laughter. 

Thus was the mighty city " filled with feasting and drunken- 
ness." But the foe was steadily moving on, in his unseen way. 
The embankment was broken down ; and the rushing stream 
turned in the new channel, leaving the old one empty, in 
which the fish, left by the ebbing waters, lay gasping among 
the sands. The two divisions marched down into the bed of 
the river, and entered the city. As they had hoped, they found 
the gates leading to the water, deserted and open, their ap- 
pointed guards being more intent upon the wine-cup, and the 
mysteries of Succoth-benoth, than watching against the enemy. 
Thus the army of Cyrus found entrance into the city in the 
siege of which, for two years, they had spent their strength for 
naught. 

But where was the " Mighty Prince of Bel," at this moment 
of his ruined fortunes ? The inspired record testifies ; " Bel- 
shazzar the king made a great feast to a thousand of his lords, 
and drank wine before the thousand." The nobles assembled 
to drink wine, with their wine-loving prince. Let us endeavor 
to figure to ourselves the scene. Let conjectured probability 
supply the omitted non-essentials of histoiy. We may suppose, 
then, that one of the halls of the new palace, on the eastern 
bank of the Euphrates, was the place of the royal banquet. 
Here, " high on a throne of royal state," sat the king in the 
midst of dazzling splendor. Far away stretched the rows of 
porphyry columns, till the sight was lost in the blaze of innu- 
merable lamps, burning fragrant oil, and shedding a light as of 
noon day. A thousand lords throng to meet their master at an 
employment more congenial to them, than the cares of govern- 
ment, or the toils and dangers of the camp. A thousand lords 
reclined upon couches of Babylonian purple, before tables of 



156 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

gold and silver, and drank wine from goblets sparkling with 
gems. The fragrant breath of flowers saluted the sense : and 
the soft and silvery notes of music floated round them. Beauty , 
too, added its witching spell. The many wives and concubines 
of the monarch, chosen from the congregated loveliness of 
many lands, were there. And ranged around the walls, each 
upon his lofty pedestal, stood the images of Nebo, and Tartak, 
and the unnumbered gods of the Chaldeans. Some like Anam- 
meleck, were combinations of humanity and the brute, the body 
of a man with the head of an ape. Some were in the form of 
birds of various kinds. And others still were men or women 
with many arms, like the idols of the East, at the present day. 
The materials, too, were various ; from the golden image with 
eyes of diamonds, to the brazen, the stone, and those of cu- 
riously inlaid wood. Thus Belshazzar drank his wine ; and the 
song of mirth, and the sounds of revelry rose around him on 
every side, and rolled through the lofty hall. Belshazzar drank, 
and each goblet raised him to a loftier pitch of arrogance and 
pride. His fawning courtiers vied with each other in paying 
fulsome compliment; and the smiling king receives the honeyed 
words with willing ear. 

A musician draws near the foot of the throne, and tunes his 
instrument in praise of the intoxicated monarch. " Mighty 
Prince of Bel, live for ever. Thou rulest from the rising of the 
sun ; to the place where he plunges into the waves of the Great 
Sea. Thou swayest thy sceptre among the snow-clad moun- 
tains of the North ; and the foamy billows of the southern 
ocean, rolling over slumbering pearls, bow down and pay thee 
homage. The red lightnings obey thee ; and the mighty thun- 
der is but the voice of thy power. The robbers of Elam, and 
the spoilers of Persia, come up against thee ; but thou shalt 
smite them. Thou shalt crush them, as the wild elephant tram- 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 157 

pies his foe. Thou shalt rend them, as the hungry lion of the 
desert rends his prey." Another musician takes up the simili- 
tude, and prolongs the strain. " The lion of the plain is now 
still in his cavern. He utters not his terrible roar. He shakes 
not his mane, nor bares his white fangs. The Persians sees not 
the tire-gleaming eyes, and he counts him as the fearful fawn of 
Cashmere, or as the timid antelope of Kerman. But the lion 
crouches that he may spring : and soon will he dart upon his 
foes and scatter them, as the panther of Caucasus scatters the 
flocks of the shepherd." 

" By the altar of Belus, and yonder sacred statue," exclaims 
the excited monarch, " the harper saith well, Let gold be given 
him." A slave presents the crafty musician with a purse filled 
with broad pieces. The harper prostrates himself and touches 
the marble pavement with his forehead ; while the hall rings 
with the shout, " Hail, Belshazzar, live for ever, the Glory of 
Earth, and the Brother of the Sun." 

The musician arose, placed the purse in a fold of his robe, 
and again touched his strings. 

" Our Prince is the son of might. A strong lion was his sire. 
He trod the sands of Araby, and divided the spoil of Misraim. 
He lapped the waters of the Nile with his tongue. He uttered 
his roar in Palestina. He bounded over the mountains of 
Judah, and bore the rich prey to his lair in the green reeds of 
the Euphrates." 

" By the golden image of Bel," exclaimed the monarch, 
" he speaks truth. Nebuchadnezzar spoiled the nations. He 
laid waste the cities of the West, even unto the sea. Here, 
slave, Jew, take the harp, and make us sport. Sing us one of 
the songs of Zion." 

The captive cast himself down before his oppressor, and 
meekly answered ; " Great King, how can we be mirthful, far 



158 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

away from the sepulchres of our Fathers ? And how can we 
sing- the Lord's song in a strange land 1 " 

" What ! " cried the infuriated tyrant, " wilt thou not obey ! 
Darest thou refuse, when Belshazzar commands ! Guards, bear 
him to the prison. When we want for amusement, we will 
see him torn limb from limb by the panther of the mountain. 
Slaves, bring hither the vessels of silver and gold, which the 
hand of the great Nebuchadnezzar bore from the altar of the 
Jewish god, and placed among the offerings to Bel, the 
Renowned." 

As the soldiers rudely laid hold upon the captive, and were 
dragging him away, he spoke in tones low, but full of energy, 
" daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed ; happy shall 
he be, that rewardeth thee, as thou hast served us ! " 

In a few moments, the vessels which had been solemnly dedi- 
cated to the service of the Lord of Hosts, were brought into the 
banqueting hall. Slaves fill them with the red wine of Chal- 
dea, and place them before the band* of revelers. The king 
arose, holding a sacred cup in his hand, and looked around upon 
the sculptured gods, whose varied forms were on every side. 
"Hail to thee, Mighty Belus, son of power. Hail to thee, 
Tartak, who rulest the stars. Hail, Ashtaroth, who lav est thy 
beauteous form in the silver stream of Euphrates. Hail, ye 
gods of Chaldee ; of the empire that hath no end. Ye are 
mightier than the god of Judah, and to you we now devote the 
spoils of his fallen temple, and deserted shrine. Thus we defy 
his vengeance." 

Belshazzar, with the unsteady hand of intoxication, raised the 
cup to his mouth ; but as it touched his lips, a death-like pallor 
spread suddenly over his countenance ; the cup fell from his 
grasp, and the wine flowed unheeded over the purple robes of 
royalty. He sunk powerless upon his seat, with his wide staring 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 159 

eyes fixed upon the opposite wall of the banqueting apartment. 
There, a shadowy hand is seen writing words of mystery. And 
now the shadowy hand, holding the pen, fades and is gone; 
but there, with the blaze of many lamps falling bright upon 
them, are the characters which it traced, — Mene, mene, tekel, 
upharsin. Mysterious words, " Numeration, Weighing, Divi- 
sion." Each is familiar to the ear of king and courtier. Each 
is heard in the council chamber, at the feast, and even in 
the sports of children. The ordinary acceptation every body 
knows ; but what mean they here, traced, in letters of fire, by 
no mortal hand] It is the fiat of Deity, the decree of Omnipo- 
tence ; and what does it speak 1 Do they foreshadow good, or 
ill] And to whom are they the outbeamings of destiny, the 
Persian or the Chaldean, the mighty city or the mighty army 
around its walls? 

The guilty soul of the wine-loving Belshazzar assured him 
that the writing could bode no good to him, or his kingdom. 
Perchance he calls to mind a scene which once transpired in the 
plain of Dura. He seems to behold the colossal image, and the 
multitudes prostrating themselves before it, at the sound of the 
sackbut and dulcimer. He remembers the faithfulness of the 
three Hebrews ; the fiery furnace into which they were cast, in 
whose intense flames they walked unhurt, while one stood with 
them there in God-like form and glorious apparel. He remem- 
bers the royal decree which sped through the provinces, com- 
manding the nations which owned the power of the great king, 
no more to speak against the God of Judah, lest the blas- 
phemers be slain, and their dwellings be made heaps. Well 
might the monarch be overwhelmed with terror. He had in- 
sulted a God, before whom the great conqueror had bowed with 
reverence. He had wantonly polluted the sacred vessels of 
Zion, and thus defied the God of Israel. The royal drunkard 



160 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

was now sobered by his alarm ; and a deep dread of he knew 
not what, filled his sou}. " His countenance was changed, and 
his thoughts troubled him, so that the joints of his loins were 
loosed, and his knees smote one against another." He cried 
aloud for the soothsayers and the Magi, to decipher the words 
and interpret their hidden meaning. The venerable priests, 
with snowy beards, and flowing vestments, are summoned in 
hot haste. Silence, as of the dead, broods over the awe stricken 
assembly, as they enter the place of the banquet. They ad- 
vance, and gaze long and earnestly upon the fearful characters. 
But their boasted skill in supernatural things fails them utterly, 
and they stand confounded and silent. The king's terror grows 
with each moment's delay. He commanded a robe of the 
famed purple, and a chain of gold, to be brought before him ; 
and he seeks to cheer the astrologers by declaring that he who 
should solve the mystic vision, should be invested with these 
insignia, and be made, on the spot, the third ruler in the king- 
dom. But the abashed magicians shrink from the task and own 
themselves vanquished. Then were the fears of the prince of 
Bel confirmed ; and his trembling lords stood in dumb con- 
sternation, and in vain looked inquiringly into each other's pale 
countenances. 

The silence was broken by the entrance of the Queen-moth- 
er, to whom a slave had fled with tidings of what had occurred 
in the Hall of Banquets. She approached her royal son, and 
addressed him thus : — 

" 0, king, live forever. Let not thy thoughts trouble thee ; 
nor let thy countenance be changed. There is a man in thy 
kingdom, in whom is the spirit of the holy gods ; and in the 
days of thy father, light, and understanding, and wisdom, like 
the wisdom of the gods, were found in him. Him the king 
Nebuchadnezzar, thy father, made master of the magicians, 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 161 

astrologers, Chaldeans and soothsayers. Now let Daniel be 
called, and he will show the interpretation." 

The king gave command, and the officers of the Palace went 
in haste to summon the wonderful man. As the aged prophet 
of the Most High was led into the royal presence, every eye 
was fixed upon him. Nearly seventy years had passed since he 
first stood before the throne of Nebuchadnezzar. Those seventy 
winters had left their snows upon his flowing beard, but had not 
bowed down his venerable form, nor dimmed the fire of his 
searching eye. 

As he drew near, the king eagerly addressed him : — " Art 
thou that Daniel which art of the children of the captivity of 
Judah % I have heard of thee, that the spirit of the gods is in 
thee. Thou canst make interpretations, and dissolve doubts. 
Now, if thou canst read the writing, and make known to me 
the interpretation thereof, thou shalt be clothed with scarlet, 
and have a chain of gold about thy neck, and shall be the third 
ruler in the kingdom." 

The prophet, unawed by the scene around him, looked 
calmly upon the words still blazing upon the wall, and then 
turned toward the throne and replied : — 

" Let thy gifts be to thyself, and give thy rewards to another : 
yet I will read the writing unto the king, and make known 
unto him the interpretation. thou king, the Most High God 
gave Nebuchadnezzar thy father, a kingdom, and majesty, and 
glory, and honor. All people, nations, and languages, trembled 
before him. But when his heart was lifted up with pride, he 
was made to come down from his throne, and they took his 
glory from him. But thou, his son, Belshazzar, hast not 
humbled thy heart, though thou knewest all this. Thou hast 
lifted up thyself against the God of heaven. They have 
brought the vessels of his house before thee ; and thou and thy 

11 



162 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

lords, thy wives and thy concubines, have drunk wine in them. 
And thou hast praised the gods of silver and gold, of brass, iron, 
wood and stone, which see not, nor hear, nor know. And the 
God in whose hand thy breath is, hast thou not glorified. Then 
was the part of the hand sent from Him, and this writing was 
written. And this is the writing that was written : — Enumera- 
tion ; Enumeration ; Weighing ; Division. And this is the 
interpretation. Enumeration ; God hath numbered thy king- 
dom and finished it. Weighing ; thou art weighed in the bal- 
ances, and art found wanting. Division ; thy kingdom is divi- 
ded and given to the Medes and Persians." 

The prophet ceased ; he had fulfilled his mission. The 
prince, whose doom had thus been pronounced, commanded, 
with a trembling voice, the rewards to be given. The attend- 
ants invest the passive Daniel with the robe of royalty, and 
place the golden badge of office about his neck ; and a herald 
proclaimed him the third in authority in the empire of the Chal- 
dees. No smile of proud joy lights up the countenance of 
Daniel, as the insignia of power are placed upon him. Unre- 
sistingly, and as one whose deep thoughts are elsewhere, he 
suffers them to be put on, and then turns, cind with a meek step, 
leaves the banquet hall. 

But the music is silent ; the reveling has ceased, and cannot 
be resumed. The light of the perfumed lamps falls every 
where upon anxious and awed faces. But the more reckless 
among the lords fix their eyes upon the fearful characters, they 
mark their fading brightness ; and a faint gleam of hope and 
returning confidence comes back to their hearts. Soon the fiery 
tokens are gone. The lords begin to recover from their fears. 
They order the slaves to • pour out more wine, and they call 
upon the dancing women, and the players upon the cornet and 
the psaltery to go on. But the daughters of music look upon 



THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 163 

the fallen countenance of the king and remain motionless and 
silent. Suddenly a new sound from without is heard. It is not 
the noise of revelry, nor the notes of mirth. Nearer and nearer 
it comes, rolling- up the broad avenue, till at last it breaks upon 
the ear in sounds not to be mistaken. It is the roar of battle. 
The clash of arms mingles with the fierce shouts of the combat- 
ants. The groans of the dying, and the cries of the wounded, 
as they roll upon the ground in their agony are heard. The 
trampling of rapid feet, and the wild shrieks of the unarmed 
multitude, flying from the foe swell the loud tumult. Soon the 
ring of armor, and the rushing tread of armed men, are heard 
in the court. The guard stationed there, incapable of resistance 
are butchered without mercy ; and in another moment, the very 
gates of the palace trembled beneath the heavy blows of the 
battle-axe. And now they are burst through, and a crowd of 
soldiers, covered with blood, and mad with the terrible frenzy 
of battle, pour into the festive hall. In the last energy of de- 
spair, Belshazzar drew his sword, and a few of his thousand 
lords rallied around their sovereign. But resistance was vain. 
His friends are cut down by his side, and as the ill-fated mon- 
arch stood among the writhing wounded and the gory slain, and 
essayed to defend himself, his sword was dashed from his hand, 
and the traitorous scimetar of Gobrias, once his friend, pierced 
his breast. He sunk down upon the bodies of the fallen, and 
his blood poured over the marble pavement, mingled with the 
red wine which had brought sin and death upon him. 

" Then slumbered not 
Thy vengeance, Holy one. At that decree, 
Morn came, and went, and came ; but where was he, 
Chaldea's haughty Monarch ? He was gone 
Where earthly princes are but earthly dust ; 
And Babylon was fallen." 



164 THE LAST REVEL OF BELSHAZZAR. 

A few years more, and the " Golden City " had become a 
mass of rains. And now the woe denounced by the Prophet, 
when Babylon was in the height of its glory, is literally fulfilled. 
" It shall never be inhabited ; neither shall the Arabian pitch 
tent there ; neither shall the shepherds make their fold there. 
But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there ; and their houses 
shall be full of doleful creatures ; and owls shall dwell there, 
and satyrs shall dance there. I will also make it a possession 
for the bittern, and pools of water ; and I will sweep it with 
the besom of destruction, saith the Lord of Hosts." 



DR. FREDERICK A. FICKARDT, M. W. S. 

Frederick A. Fickardt, is a native of Lancaster County, 
Pennsylvania. His family is German from a stock originally 
French. His father was a medical graduate of one of the Ger- 
man universities, and emigrated early in life to this country. 
His mother was the eldest daughter of a Southern clergyman 
of talent and repute. At a proper age the subject of our sketch 
entered upon the study of Medicine, and in due time graduated 
at the Medical University of Pennsylvania. An arduous pur- 
suit of his profession in the flourishing town of Easton, of that 
state, proved eventually an overmatch for his constitution, and 
induced him to exchange that locality for the city of Philadelphia, 
where he now resides. From his youth, Dr. Fickardt has been 
a firm and consistent advocate of Temperance. In 1828, he 
actively engaged in the formation and support of the first 
Temperance Society in Northern Pennsylvania, of which he 
subsequently became an efficient President. Since then he has 
been associated with the reform in all its phases. On his arrival 
at Philadelphia in 1845, he was elected Grand Worthy Patriarch 
of the Grand Division of " Sons of Temperance," of Penn. 
In 1846, at the third annual session of the National Division, he 
was elected Most Worthy Scribe of that body ; and in 1848, at 
the fifth annual session, was re-elected to the same honorable 
and responsible position. 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE 

OF NORTH AMERICA, 
AS A SCHOOL FOR POPULAR DEBATE AND ELOQUENCE. 

BY FREDERICK A. FICKARDT, M. W. S. 
OF THE NATIONAL DIVISION, SONS OF TEMPERANCE OF N. A. 

In attempting- a theme so singular as that indicated by the 
title of this essay, I can have but little reason to be influenced 
by any sense of personal ability ; but am induced to the work 
by the strong tendencies of the Order of Sons of Temperance, 
and the wonderful theatre for individual improvement in popular 
debate and eloquence which its numerous Subordinate, Grand, 
and National Divisions present. 

I am free to declare the facts of this proposition stand out 
so definitely among the many indirect benefits of the Order, 
apart from its great primary principles, as to make them of much 
importance, and fairly to entitle them not only to the attentive 
consideration of every Son of Temperance, but of all other 
ingenuous young minds. 

In a republic like ours, where all matters of a moral, civil, 
religious or social nature are determined by verbal expression, 




: 






n HE S OF T OF NORTH AM 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 167 

for the most part oral ; the true value of right eloquence, 
strengthened by a familiar use of the rules of debate, cannot be 
easily, over calculated. In view of these facts, after a not in- 
considerable experience in the Order, I cannot forbear express- 
ing my own regrets that I had not, in my youth, similar reliable 
opportunities of discipline and practice. 

It is therefore a conviction of my own loss, as well as the 
prominent character of the Order as a gymnasium of the facul- 
ties preparatory to the great arena of the life and strife of intel- 
lect in the world, that impels me to earnestly impress on Sons 
of Temperance, and the young men of the country generally, 
the exceeding worth of the Order as an educational organization, 

I speak it soberly, and not without serious reflection, when I 
state that in my judgment, no schools, or colleges ; no societies 
for debate, however rigid, nor any other association, will equally 
advance so many young men to the attainment of power in 
debate, or a manly and straight forward eloquence. 

This, to the " uninitiated," may sound a sweeping and mag- 
niloquent assertion. But if it were possible to submit a moiety 
of the facts to my readers, their candor would fully bear me out 
in my firm praise. To those who are members of the Order, I 
may at once appeal for support of my strongest expressions. 
Nor will I fear for the support of any, when we consider the 
original principles and active character of the Order ; its various 
regulations, laws, and discipline ; its many legal enactments and 
its equally frequent Judicial decisions ; its excellent select and 
approved Rules of Parliamentary order and debate ; the varie- 
ties of position in which Sons of Temperance are continually 
placed as members, and subordinate and presiding officers ; its 
many moving incidents, and its frequent occasions of persuasive, 
spirited, explanatory and judicial discussions, habitually controll- 
ed by constitutional law and the great republican rule " of the 



1C8 THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 

majority." This support moreover I fully challenge when I 
state the fact that more than jive thousand Divisions of the Order 
meet regularly every week, for the transaction of business, and 
the advancement of the general cause. Do any still doubt'? 
Then I state that these Divisions embrace a membership of over 
a quarter of a million of intelligent and sober men. 

Beside these there are thirty-five Grand Divisions of States, 
Territories or Provinces, holding important quarterly and annual 
sessions, and a National Division, holding yearly Congresses of 
Representatives from the grand divisions, in all of which the 
happiest opportunities are presented either for close debate, or 
a full and generous expression of sentiments. In addition to 
all the " out of doors " speaking afforded by the Order is im- 
mense as it is free. Now, will any one look at this vast and 
rapidly extending moral intellectual school of ours and hesitate 
to pronounce it magnificently grand ? 

But to lead you still farther into the mysteries of this People's 
College, I proceed to state that the Order of Sons of Temper- 
ance is a charmed Brotherhood, erected in protection and advo- 
cacy of that great virtue, Temperance, and based socially on 
" Love, Purity, and Fidelity," its generous motto. 

Its spirit in general matters is uncompromisingly republican. 
Before it, ages and outward conditions are fraternised and equal. 
Within it, wealth has no influence, station no prestige, nor pro- 
fession any privilege. Pretensions sink quiet at the entrance of 
its rooms, and all with them are content under the salutary oper- 
ation of an honorable and undeviating level. 

In this, the Order is truly classic and noble, and fitly repre- 
sents the dignity of human nature. Each individual is assured 
of the just respect of his fellows, and all have a desirable care. 
To the young and modest aspirant for self-cultivation, the best, 
because the most fruitful education of any, this excellent assu- 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 169 

ranee is matter of the first moment. Its effect is to give to all 
such, courage to be themselves. In this I mean more than the 
word expresses, I mean to be natural. Before a band of broth- 
ers who look indulgently and encouragingly on every true effort, 
young speakers do not long hesitate to take the floor in support 
or defence of the positions they may assume. A few trials, and 
the new debater, at first startled at the sound of his own voice, 
gains his speaking legs, and feels that he has arms and a body, 
as well as a head. The uncertainty of sight, the chaos of brain, 
the flutterings of his heart, and the debilitating doubt of capacity 
are passed away, and the debutant has learned a useful and 
becoming mastery over the elementary incidents of debate and 
oration. 

Thus in a time, often surprizingly short, young speakers ob- 
tain a footing on the rungs of the ladder that leads to the higher 
exertions and rewards, of skilful debate and eloquence. 

They soon moreover gain collectedness, promptness, and that 
enviable faculty of the right debater and orator, that " conditio 
sine qua non," with the American people, the power of " think- 
ing whilst upon their feet," and speaking their thoughts firmly 
whilst looking in the eyes of their audience. 

Accordingly, our young men reap great advantages, and go 
out into the general field prepared to do themselves, and what- 
ever cause they may espouse, full and honorable justice. Under 
the guidance of their principles they become a public benefit, 
and at the same time are saved by their connection with the 
Order, from the destroying devil of our country, Intemperance. 

It is indeed gratifying to observe this elevating influence so 
widely and universally diffused. It is not that the Order of Sons 
of Temperance is a school for the few — but that it exalts the 
many, that makes it admirable. It is not that the Order, under 
the concurrence of favorable circumstances, developes then and 



170 THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 

there, some peculiarly bright and shining- light in the divine art ; 
but that it effects henejicially ', the general membership. 

I hold, and in the matter I reason as a lover of humanity and 
my country, that out of a quarter of a million of Sons of Tem- 
perance thus self-taught, learning to marshal their opinions un- 
der firm discipline, and extemporaneously, boldly and effectively 
to pronounce them, the cause of right, of truth and human hap- 
piness, will derive greatly more service, than from the few bril- 
liant rhetorical Ciceros, Burkes and Sheridans whom the hot bed 
systems of the schools of elocution and colleges of the country, 
may force into artificial and ephemeral existence. 

I do not in these remarks seek for a moment to depreciate 
unduly the excellent effects of a true literary education in many 
things ; or even to undervalue it in the matter before us. But 
the schools in general, extinguish the nascent germs of elo- 
quence in their pupils, by addressing their efforts to unnatural 
standards, and throwing their powers upon systems. Freedom, 
soul and nature, the great elements of moving eloquence are 
overlooked in disproportionate care for a set form of graces of 
composition and manner ; and the alumnus, whose soul-like 
capacity, perhaps entered college a young Sampson, or comes 
shorn and powerless from the hands of the Delilah his alma mater. 

Therefore I repeat, that in the great matter of real eloquence 
which persuades and moves men's minds to conviction and ac- 
tion ; that honestest, bravest eloquence which " Feels its sub- 
ject thoroughly and speaks without fear," the Order of Sons of 
Temperance is incomparably more prolific than all the colleges 
in the country combined. 

This self-education of citizens, all educated and good men 
will admit, is beyond price ; and thus the Order at once appears 
what it really is, in this respect as well as others, a proud means 
of good, and a blessing to the country. 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 171 

To the individual Son of Temperance the intellectual oppor- 
tunities of the Order thus described, readily impart a power 
applicable to his usefulness, interests and personal and social 
good, in a variety of ways. 

To popularity indeed, eloquence is the sure key, and the 
man whose right hand holds it, commands to himself the ave- 
nues to influence and public respect. Let me assure the young, 
that all men look with respect and favor on him who can daunt- 
lessly face the battery of a thousand pairs of eyes, and grace- 
fully, firmly and effectually deliver his sentiments before them. 
Such a man is always, or speedily becomes, a man of mark with 
the peopfe of the United States. 

But to continue. The standard moral principles of the Order, 
under whose regulating influences this faculty is acquired, throw 
additional lustre on forensic debate, and the higher quality of a 
generous public eloquence. Temperance, Integrity, Virtue, 
Honor, Charity, Brotherhood and Benevolence are our control- 
ling influences. 

These double the value of those divine attainments to the 
country, for without them, eloquence and ratiocinative skill 
become mere matters of pence — at times a two-edged sword at 
the back and service of the baser passions, and too often are to 
be found in the market, a contemptible, when not a dangerous 
thing of traffic. 

This condition of things additionally entitles the body of Sons 
of Temperance to the favorable consideration and support of 
good citizens. 

But some now say, tell us more particularly the nature of that 
oratory of the Order in whose behalf you would impress us. 
This will be difficult from the nature of the case. I shall hard- 
ly be able to show it, and show it justice- I could wish rather 
that all doubters could pass with me through the Divisions and 



172 THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 

Grand Divisions of the Order and see for themselves. I have 
often personally been agreeably surprised at results as I have 
portrayed them. The more than ordinary eloquence which 
frequently lights up the debates of the Order would please the 
plainest, animate the most indifferent and convince the most 
skeptical. Yet as in duty bound to my readers, I will endeavor, 
as well as I can, to hedge, in words, and frame to the sight, a 
thing which is spirit and sensation. 

As an amateur observer both in and out of the Order, to a 
considerable extent, I do not hesitate to pronounce the oratory 
of the Order of Sons of Temperance of that sort which is of 
the highest utility ; and that is, perhaps, the fullest praise that 
can be bestowed upon any. 

The garnished trickery of the schools of elocution will not 
stand the test of the genuine tones and action of this natural, 
popular school. In style the oratory of the Order is plain, 
direct and practical ; in substance solid ; in tone earnest, manly 
and grave ; in manner without pretense, and in action natural 
and free. 

It is the considerate utterance of thinking, rather than the 
passionate declamation of emotional assemblies. It deals but 
little in figures and metaphor ; perhaps too little ; but its admi- 
rable liberty, its cogency, warmth and general vivacity, totally 
prevent dryness. In truth it is almost impossible that the inter- 
nal oratory of the Order should be anything but what I have 
described it. Immediate contact, the eye set on eye, and the 
present interest of most discussions, prevent men however 
prone, if they have moderate sensibilities, from becoming inde- 
finite or desultory. This closeness of encounter keeps men as 
close to the point. A few " ancients," whose style was formed 
under the disadvantages of " outside " fashionable training, 
sometimes talk without seeing or thinking ; but no young Son 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 173 

of Temperance, who has undergone a moderate noviciate, ever 
proses. It is then a true, sound oratory of the Reason, warm- 
ed, rather than made brilliant, by energetic feeling and a frank, 
firm and generous will. It is entirely honest. It has no fal- 
lacy of art — nor any nourish of old time preparation, but is 
prompt, extempore and direct. 

The judgment of the Order is, as a general rule, adjusted to 
this standard; and although no enemy to brilliant modes of 
speaking when the gems are true and the light sparkles natu- 
rally, or to the most enthusiastic style even, when the inspira- 
tion is not second-hand, yet it undeniably holds the incidents of 
mere meteoric oratory at a palpable discount. In short, manli- 
ness, sincerity, earnestness, good sense and right intentions are 
the essentials of the oratory of the Order of Sons of Temper- 
ance ; — an oratory whose popular origin and strong effect, cou- 
pled with the numerous and wide-spread extension of the Order, 
will before many years, mark it the "fashion" of the country 
beyond appeals. 

Principles, as may already have been inferred, are of great 
consideration with the Order. Integrity of character has more 
influence before its bar than talent. An individual known to be 
deficient in that chief particular, may as well at once resign all 
pretension to esteem. " Thou art weighed" is the dark hand- 
writing on the wall of the Division room, and the decree is 
inexorable. A plain hard sense speech from a man of right 
character, is listened to with more interest and sympathy than a 
far more glittering oratory unsupported by integrity. 

The intellectual taste of the Order is as severe as its republic- 
anism and its principles. In the older Divisions and Grand Divi- 
sions no " humbug " can flutter its wings twice. I must appeal 
to members of the Order for the amusing correctness of this 
remark. It matters not anything who the man may be, if he 



174 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE 



displays a pomp beyond the propriety of nature, there is an 
indescribable something in the grave and silent look of the 
assemblage which leaves him no room to doubt his position. 

An old established Grand Division of the Order of Sons of 
Temperance will " take the measure of a man " more quickly, 
and infallibly, than any assembly, short of the Senate of the 
United States, it has ever been my lot to scan; and if some 
Grand Divisions that I know of, had certain unruly members of 
the Senate in charge, they would mend their manners speedily. 
The reason for this peculiarity may be found in the earnest and 
practical character of the membership, and a firm high toned 
dignity imparted by the cause itself. 

The Order is a reality ; affectation dies before it. There is 
not, of the many eminent speakers known to myself, one among 
the whole number afflicted with the vice of affectation; and I 
will venture to say, knowing my ground well, that, of the thou- 
sands of passing good speakers and debaters, the Order may rea- 
sonably claim, there is not one who has been a member of the 
Order for a moderate period, who is stained with affectation in 
manner or style. 

Will professors of the colleges say as much for any other in- 
stitution of learning or practice 1 I think not. My own expe- 
rience, and I presume it is in nothing singular, is greatly to the 
contrary. 

The fields of moral progress and human rights, the churches 
and the political organism of the day, the halls of legislation 
and our noble country in all her policies and institutions, before 
a very few years shall have passed away, will alike advanta- 
geously perceive the effect of the principles and oratory of the 
Order. 

And I predict, although predictions are not argument, and are 
not often in good taste, yet for the facts and as matter of 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 175 

record, basing my claim to second sight only on observation and 
comparison of cause and effect, and the competency of the 
agents in the matter, that in less than ten years the Order of 
Sons of Temperance will furnish a large and wholesome propor- 
tion of sober, well trained, active and efficient Representatives 
for the State and National Legislatures, in some a moiety, and 
in others a working majority. This will happen by virtue 
alone of the causations noted, and without the remotest inten- 
tion of political action on the part of the Order. 

From the same intelligent causes, the Order will supply pro- 

t minent and successful candidates for all other high walks of use- 
fulness and honor ; and the time will naturally fall due sooner 
than is generally apprehended, when Judges, Governors of 
States and Presidents of the United States will many of them 
be Sons of Temperance. It cannot be otherwise. The Order 
is rapidly absorbing throughout the country that active, bold and 
reasoning class of young men from whose ranks, as the rule, 
these dignitaries are drawn, men of the people, they are the 
people, have common sympathies with them, and being educated 

- to proper fitness, will of course represent them. 

This result, in the present condition of our Legislatures, State 
and National, is a thing " devoutly to be wished for ; " not be- 
cause those men of the future will be Sons of Temperance, but 
because they will be fit. 

Now, let all remember that I speak of these things philoso- 
phically and as a man having a heart for his country, in " the 
right place," and not as a Son of Temperance. Let none, 
therefore, in pious or patriotic honor, roll up their eyeballs, and 
throw up their hands, and say, "I thought so!" — No! pray 
don't ! 

I have already said the Order has no conception of political 
action, I will now state that the Order of Sons of Temper- 



176 THE ORDRR OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 

ance is forbidden by its express fundamental principles, and if it 
were not, would be yet utterly precluded by the universality of 
its organization, from entering into any complicity of political 
action. 

The most potent conjuror of the hearts of men, might as well 
try to whistle all the birds of heaven to fly in one direction, as to 
attempt a political flight with the Order of Sons of Temperance. 
That I have so frankly spoken will be self-sustaining proof to 
all sensible men of the entire freedom of the Order from the 
possibility of political implication for improper purposes. Were 
it possible to convert this immense Temperance Benevolent 
Institution into a pestilent political party machine, I would be 
either honest enough to leave it, or shrewd enough to keep silence. 
Now, if I have tired you, my patient, serious, amiable, or 
perchance lovely reader, I am very much disposed to ask your 
pardon ; and if you will be kind enough to state your grievance 
and address, possibly, nay, very possibly, I may pick up my 
surpassing gold-nibbed, irenium pointed pen and make due apo- 
logy. For your time so dryly occupied, I owe you assurances 
of much consideration ; but I am not yet quite done. The sub- 
ject interests me from my regard for the Order, and from the 
tangible character of the facts ; to you, however, it cannot be 
nearly so interesting viewed through the dull medium of imper- 
fect and general representation. I shall now — that is — pre- 
sently conclude. I wish I could do so by blowing a fresh, 
sweet, cheerful bugle note over the hearts of the great Order, to 
make them strong in the faith of its vast and comprehensive 
future ; and then again, a trumpet-blast that would stir it up to 
" gird its loins," like a giant awaked, and press forward strenu- 
ously to work out its high destinies to the good of man. 

I wish too, I could, by some similar telegraph of sound, or 
magic of spiritual magnetism, communicate with every young, 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 177 

right minded man in the United States and British Provinces, 
not in membership with " the Order," and state to them its 
grandeur and importance, as the embodiment of the great Tem- 
perance Reform, and the vast importance to themselves individ- 
ually which it presents. 

A sober life and an unsurpassed free school of intellect and 
good morals, and an immense Brotherhood, are the high offers 
it holds out to each young man, with the one hand ; whilst with 
the other it opens the door to an honorable success to wealth, to 
character and usefulness. 

Earnestly I call on my 3 r oung brothers in the Order, to con- 
sider these things, and carefully to improve their present advan- 
tages as a duty to themselves, to their friends and families, their 
country and God. Personal opportunities of right good to our- 
selves, or others, and especially improvement to usefulness 
in the world, and Scriptural " talents " for which we are as 
much responsible, as for the personal talents or other means for 
the common benefit, over which God has set us Stewards. The 
great intellectual privileges of the Order should, therefore, be 
justly cultivated by all serious and high minded young men. 
Let them reflect that they themselves are just placing their feet 
on the threshold of life ; and that if on that great stage they 
desire to enact an honorable and becoming part, one that shall 
move the hearts and minds of men to great and good actions, 
and continue to live deeply in their memories, they must now, 
in youth, discipline themselves, and bring all their faculties into 
a well adjusted self-managment and spiritual mastery. 

A rigid determination to profit by the excellence of our or- 
ganization, cannot fail to confer upon your future the greatest 
usefulness, happiness and respectability. 

To those young friends, not members of the Order, I also 
cordially commend the Order of Sons of Temperance, for rea- 

12 



1T8 THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 

sons stated, and out of a sincere and truly friendly desire for 
their moral, intellectual and general welfare. 

I heartily invite them, in the name of a quarter of a million 
of brothers, Sons of Temperance, to the great practical self-ed- 
ucatory, moral, social and intellectual School of the Order. 

I can frankly, and conscientiously say to them, that I have 
long been a Son of Temperance, and have passed through its 
organization, with much satisfaction. As a Son of Temperance, 
although as properly jealous of my freedom in thought, word 
and deed, as any sensible person could be, I have had no reason 
to regret my membership with the Order. 

The Order of Sons of Temperance, indeed, imposes no re- 
straint but that which good sense, sound morals, and true reli 
gion dictate, — total abstinence from all crazing beverages. The 
pledge to do this is the mere public acknowledgment of what, 
without the pledge, is still equally every man's duty ; a duty, 
for the non-performance of which it is to be hoped, the commu- 
nity before long, as it is to be feared that God, hereafter, will 
hold men accountable. 

The cause of Temperance is eminently the cause of God and 
humanity ; and he, not only, who opposes it, but he who neg- 
lects his duty to it, does so at his risk. In this I am sure I am 
no bigot. I speak in no spirit of bigotry, bat in a sense of true 
brotherhood towards all mankind; but I reason as I cannot help, 
on the proposition, that in all our lives, our possible influences, 
and our conduct, we are God's u stewards" 

The pledge of the Order has thus no additional obligation in 
moral duty, but is merely the addition of our word of honor, 
where our honor and duty laid before. But unfortunately the 
habits of society, in regard to Intemperance, notwithstanding 
the light which has been, and is daily shed on their evil nature, 
are still such that the pledge of the Order of Sons of Temper- 



THE ORDER OF SONS OF TEMPERANCE. 179 

ance, is a desirable safeguard to every man. If an individual 
is unfortunately addicted to the dangerous habit of " moderate 
drinking," the only and guilty source of all drunkenness ; or is 
still more immediately involved in the fierce coils of Intemper- 
ance, the pledge of the Order, with God's blessing, will save 
him from his guilt or shame. If, on the other hand, he is not 
in such an imminent position, the ratification of the pledge will, 
perhaps, induce others worse situated, to take refuge under it, 
whilst the pledge will remain a strong wall of defence between 
himself, his hopes, his honor and the happiness of those he 
loves, and an ever lurking and fearful peril. 

Finally young countrymen, I acknowledge to have personally 
experienced much important mental discipline, as well as to 
have received many exquisite gratifications through my connec- 
tion with the Order. In its pleasant bonds of " Love, Purity, 
and Fidelity" I have found many warm-hearted, faithful and 
highly intelligent friends and brothers, and enjoyed many, and 
to myself, most memorable a white hours." I therefore com- 
mend to you, with my final words, the Order of Sons of Tem- 
perance of North America, as a most admirable school of popu- 
lar debate and eloquence, of good morals and principles, of fel- 
lowship and brotherhood — a place of safety, the way to honor, 
and the post of duty to God, yourselves, your " neighbor," and 
your country. 



HON. EDMUND DILLAHUNTY 



G-. W. P. OF TENNESSEE. 



The enquiring mind naturally turns to the history of the life, 
services, and private virtues of those who adorn and elevate the 
character of mankind. The history of every good man will 
ever stand as a beacon light to youth — pointing them to the 
paths of honor and renown. Among the distinguished names 
that have from time to time appeared, in connection with the 
Order of the Sons of Temperance, none, perhaps, has shone 
with a brighter lustre, or merits more the esteem of every lover 
of the cause, than the subject of the following sketch. 



Edmund Dillahunty, of Columbia, Tennessee, was born on 
the 28th day of September, 1800, on Richland Creek, in David- 
son county, seven miles south of Nashville. He was the fourth 
in descent from a Huguenot, one of a numerous family, who 
fled from France after the revocation of the edict of Nantes. 
He went with his father to Holland, remained there for a short 
time, and then, with other members of his family, went to Dub- 
lin in Ireland ; and when still quite young, came to America, 
about the year 1715. He settled on Chesapeake Bay, in the 
then colony of Maryland, where he continued to reside until 







' ' F',E, 



HON. EDMUND DILLAHUNTY, G. W. P. 181 

the time of his death. He married after he came to America, 
and raised a family of several children, among whom was the 
Rev. John Dillahunty, who was born on the eighth of Decem- 
ber, 1728. On the fourth of June, 1747, he married the daugh- 
ter of Francis Neal, Esq., of Baltimore. In a few years after 
his marriage, he moved to the colony of North Carolina, about 
thirty miles from Newbern, where he continued to reside until 
the year 1796, when he removed with his son, Thomas, and 
settled on Richland Creek, where he remained during his life, 
his death occuring in the year 1816, at the advanced age of 87. 

After he removed to the State of North Carolina, he received 
an appointment connected with the land office. His name in 
his commission was spelt as at this day, the French name being 
De la hunte. Under the advice of counsel, he conformed the 
spelling of his name to his commission. Whilst still a young 
man, he became impressed with the importance of Religion, 
and for more than fifty years, was a faithful, zealous and efficient 
minister of the Gospel, in the Baptist Church. He was a neigh- 
bor and friend of Gov. Caswell, and the Hon. Nathan Bryan, 
with whom he co-operated during all the struggles of the Revo- 
lution, and suffered the losses in property common to those who 
devoted themselves to the service of their country. 

He was the first minister who established a Church south of 
the Cumberland river and west of the mountains. Though not 
liberally educated himself, he was well informed on all the great 
subjects connected with man, his duties and his rights ; and few 
men, old or young, in his day, exerted so extensive and happy 
an influence throughout the whole course of his long life. His 
son Thomas, was reared amid the perils of the Revolutionary 
war, being a boy of only eight or nine years old, when the diffi- 
culties commenced between the mother country and the colonies. 
Finding, when he arrived at man's estate, his father's fortune 



182 HON. EDMUND DILLAHUNTY, G.W.P. 

shattered, and but little prospect for retrieving it in the land of 
his nativity, he turned his steps towards the rich valleys of the 
Cumberland, and settled where the subject of this notice was 
born, when Nashville was a petty village, and the rich lands 
that now surround it, adorned as they are with elegance and 
taste, was one vast interminable cane-brake. Acquainted with 
difficulties, and inured to hardships and toil, he entered almost 
alone upon the subjection of the wild and luxuriant forest. 
He struggled for independence, and was successful. 

Edmund was too young to know any thing of the dangers, 
and difficulties of pioneer life. While young, he was sent to 
the common schools of the country ; and after he had become 
large enough to labor, he took his place on the farm, and went 
to school only as he could be spared after the crop had been 
made and before it had been gathered in, or after it had been 
gathered in, and before the time of planting again arrived. His 
father, though not educated, was fond of books, and gathered 
standard works on geography, history, and the physical sciences. 
With these means, by the time Edmund arrived at manhood, 
he had attained the elements of a good English education. 
Shortly before he passed out of his minority, he determined on 
the profession of the law, and with the consent of his father, 
went to Greeneville College, East Tennessee, where he remain- 
ed until he entered on his twenty-third year. In 1823, he com- 
menced the study of law in the office of Robert L. Cobbs, Esq., 
then an eminent attorney in the Maury Circuit. In 1824, he 
obtained licence to practice law, shortly after which he went 
into partnership with his preceptor, and at once entered upon 
a heavy practice. In 1831, he was elected Attorney General 
for the State, by the Legislature, for the district in which he 
lived, against powerful opposition. In 1834, the Constitution 
of the State was amended, the courts re-organized, and he was 



183 HON. EDMUND DILLAHUNTY, G. W. P. 

unanimously elected Judge for the 8th Judicial Circuit of Ten- 
nessee. At the expiration of eight years, he was unanimously 
re-elected, and holds the office at the present time, under his 
last election. 

In 1845, in his absence, and without his knowledge, he was 
elected Grand Master of Masons in Tennessee. In 1846, he was 
unanimously re-elected to the same office. In October, 1849, he 
was elected Grand Worthy Patriarch of the Grand Division, 
Sons of Temperance, of Tennessee, which office he now fills. 

For nearly thirty years, he has been a laborious student. 
Whilst a lawyer, without any display, he always came well 
prepared to the argument of his causes. His arguments were 
characterized more by plain common sense than any attempt 
at embellishment by oratory ; yet there were times when he 
felt, and deeply felt, the wrongs of his client, and he seldom 
failed to arouse in the minds of the jury the same honest indig- 
nation that swelled in his own bosom. Having associated much 
in early life with the laboring classes, he was well acquainted 
with their wants and sympathies ; and without any of the arts 
of the demagogue, he could readily touch those chords in their 
nature that vibrated in his own. 

He always avoided political strife — never sought or desired 
any political office ; and although never a neutral in any poli- 
tical or moral question, he has ever avoided the political heat 
and excitement of a partizan. 

As a Judge, he has aided in elevating the standard of profes- 
sional character, and has exercised an influence over the pub- 
lic mind, in its respect for law and morals, that few men, if 
any, have ever done. Understanding the law well, as a science, 
and being also well versed in the history of man, he has on all 
suitable occasions endeavored, through the administration of the 
law, to arouse the public mind to the importance of education 



184 HON. EDMUND DILL AHUNT Y , G. W. P . 

and sound morality as a means of preventing crime, of uphold- 
ing free government, and placing within the reach of every 
individual that happiness which secures social prosperity, by 
causing each one to feel that his wants and interests were not 
forgotten by the government that claimed his submission. 

His habits were always sober ; but whilst Attorney General, 
the common sense view he was accustomed to take of things, 
led him to trace crime to its causes, and he soon found that 
ignorance and intemperance were the occasion of at least nine- 
tenths of the crime that came under his supervision. As early 
as 1834, he began to point the public mind to the importance 
of some concentrated action to suppress the evil of Intemper- 
ance ; from that day until the present time he has been an un- 
compromising and efficient advocate of the Temperance move- 
ment. When the Order of the Sons of Temperance was intro- 
duced into his State, he was, as might have been expected, 
among the first to enter its ranks. 

He is a man of by no means a robust constitution, but cer- 
tainly one that is well balanced ; otherwise he could not have 
performed the labor he has undergone, without showing more 
of the wear and tear of life than is exhibited in his person. He 
is now nearly fifty years of age, and still, his grey hairs ex- 
cepted, has all the freshness and vigor of youth. 

In addition to the labors of his office, he has for about fifteen 
years had under his direction, young men preparing for the law, 
to whom he devotes much time, and takes great pains in in- 
structing them for the profession, and giving them proper views 
of life ; and he is now, and has been for the last twelve months, 
a lecturer in Jackson College, of which he is a visitor. His 
venerable mother, now eighty years of age, resides with the 
Judge, in the enjoyment of good health, and the possession of 
all her mental faculties. 



INTE MPERANCE. 

BY HON. EDMUND DILLAHUNTY, G. W. P. 

God has seen fit in his wisdom, to subject all the works of his 
hands to the dominion of law, from the tallest seraph that night 
and day strikes his harp round the Eternal Throne, down to the 
insect that floates in the sunbeam. The erratic comet that flies 
away as if disdaining all control, but its own caprice, after wan- 
dering for ages in regions the ken of the philosopher has never 
yet explored, at length, in conformity to the laws of its nature, 
returns and pays homage due to the sun. The sun, moon, and 
stars shine forth the will of Him who rules them. Even to the 
winds and waves God, their master has set bounds and decreed 
rules. He blows his breath upon old ocean and she rolls her 
waves to the shore : He speaketh to the thunder and it answers 
back the voice of obedience : He sendeth for the lightnings and 
they come up to do his bidding. And when we come to ana- 
lyze man we find that every part of his complex being, whether 
spirit, mind, or matter, is no less the subject of law than the 
material universe around. 

To every violation of any one of these laws the Divine Law- 



186 INTEMPERANCE. 

giver has annexed a penalty proportioned always to the charac- 
ter and degree of the outrage. It is written by every star in 
heaven, by every sunbeam upon the earth, and proclaimed by 
every voice in nature, nothing can violate the laws of its being 
with impunity. Therefore, let every offender against nature 
know this fact that, so certain as night follows day, he will, 
sooner or later, reap the bitter fruits of his wickedness and folly. 
Self interest, then, apart from every other consideration, would 
teach us to be temperate ; for, there is no law of man's nature, 
moral, mental, or physical, that intemperance does not violate ; 
and most bitterly, too, does he pay for such transgressions. Its 
physical effects are disease, suffering, decay, death. It deranges 
the nervous system, poisons the blood, and corrupts those fluids 
nature has furnished for the health and nutrition of the body. 
If there is any predisposition in the system for disease, the germ 
is certain to be developed by the use of ardent spirits. Ask the 
candid, the honest physician, and he will tell you this ; and he 
will also tell you that, intemperance is the parent of well nigh 
every disease. Climate and local causes do much, but intem- 
perance still more, to give the physician employment — not to 
speak of the thousand deaths by apoplexy, by shooting, by stab- 
bing, by drowning, by burning, by freezing, that are brought 
about by drunkenness. It has done more to people the city 
of the dead, than fire, famine, pestilence, and the sword. It 
is the destroying angel upon whose footsteps death waits to glut 
himself with human sacrifice. Could the myriad of its slain be 
collected together, it would take an arch-angel, speaking with 
the dialect of Heaven, to number the multitude. 

Granted, that immediate death is not always the consequence 
of drunkenness. The same may be said of any other poison, 
even the most active. But better, far, that the man should die 
at once, than to linger out an existence of wretchedness and 



INTEMPERANCE. 187 

misery: an existence that might be called a living death — a 
blossoming, a vegetating for the grave — without the pleasures of 
life, or relief of death. He upon whom the monster has laid 
his hand may bid adieu to health and happiness in this life, and 
surely he cannot hope for any reward in that Heaven, where 
it is said nothing unclean shall ever enter. 

But it stops not here. Its ravages extend to the whole man, 
laying body, mind, and soul in ruins. The proudest intellects 
that ever marked their burning track across the field of science, 
when clouded by drunkenness, have sunk to rest enveloped in 
the dun pall of a starless night of obscurity. And though ever 
and anon, as it dies out, its flashes may break forth, like light- 
ning beneath the storm-cloud, they serve to increase rather than 
interrupt the darkness. It is truly a leveller of all grades and 
distinctions in intellect. It stultifies the mind of the philoso- 
pher, and can do no more for that of the fool. My heart bleeds, 
and the tear unbidden starts to the eye, as I behold the wreck 
of that mind in whose presence kings might have trembled, and 
royalty stood rebuked. Angels might weep as they heard the 
wild bachanal revels of passion that, reverberating amid the 
broken arches and fallen columns of the ruined palace of the 
soul, proclaimed the melancholy tale, that usurpers sat upon the 
throne once consecrated to reason. It would take a fiend from 
the region of despair to tell the anguish of a spirit that writhes 
under the despotism of evil passions. 

The use of ardent spirits not only clouds the intellect, weak- 
ens the understanding, and totally unfits the mind for the acqui- 
sition of knowledge, but tends directly to dissipate what know- 
ledge may have been acquired. Every day the man continues 
its use he is retrograding, like one who labors against the cur- 
rent, when he fails to strike the oar he not only ceases to ad- 
vance, but is borne off on the bosom of the flood. 



188 INTEMPERANCE. 

If all this be true, how is it, it is asked, that some of the most 
brilliant scintillations of genius have been stricken from minds 
in which alcohol had kindled its blaze ? We answer that, in 
this way — the meteor may blaze with a brighter glare for a mo- 
ment, but does it shine on with the undimmed radiance of the 
fixed star? And it is the unnatural brightness of the meteor 
that causes it so soon to die out and be forgotten. The mind 
thus stimulated, like the chariot of the sun driven by the reck- 
less Phaeton, will be set on fire and consume itself by the rapid- 
ity of its own motion. 

But the above objection to the truth of the remark, that 
drunkenness debases the intellect, proves no more than this, that 
nature has blessed some men with such extraordinary powers of 
mind that those powers, though weakened, cannot be destroyed 
but by long and the grossest abuse ; just as some animals may 
feed on poison without immediate death. I appeal to every one 
who reads this, if they ever knew any one who was in the habit 
of getting drunk, to retain for any length of time his vigor of 
mind ] There cannot be but one answer to this question. But 
why fatigue myself and weary your patience in proving that 
which is as evident as any axiom in mathematics 1 

If possible, its work of moral ruin is more awful still. It is a 
fact, my experience both as a lawyer and a judge has taught 
me, that nine-tenths of the crimes which stain our records, 
which were attended with violence, are the natural conse- 
quences of the use of ardent spirits. Drunkenness does some- 
thing more than degrade man to a level with the brute. It 
gives him the folly of the brute, but the madness of the demon. 
It corrupts every fountain of moral purity in the heart, and 
causes them to send out a foul flood whose bitterness and poison 
are death. The " worm of the still," eats out every generous 
emotion, every thing ennobling in the heart of man. He who 



INTEMPERANCE. 189 

was the tender husband, the affectionate brother, the dutiful 
son, the constant friend and kind neighbor, has been transformed 
into the unfeeling" wretch whose heart no longer throbs with 
any sentiment of kindness and love, but who has buried the 
past, with its fond recollections, the present with its joys, and 
the future with its hopes, in the damning cup of intoxication. 
Could the grave give up its dead, could hell send up its wit- 
nesses, could beggared wives and starving orphans come from 
their dark and desolate abodes of despair, to tell their tale of 
woe, with what trumpet-tongues would they stand up to plead 
against the deep damnation of drunkenness ! 

And shall not we rise up against an enemy that has strewed 
the world with its slain, has peopled the grave with its dead, has 
filled the earth with sighs and groans, and made the profoundest 
deep of hell give back the sound of wailing and of woe ? Shall 
we not strike down this hydra-headed monster, that lifts its head 
on high as if in defiance of the war-club of Hercules ] Shall 
we close the book in despair and abandon man to his fate ; or 
shall we exert ourselves to rescue man, noble by nature, and 
capable of being still more ennobled by education 1 

As we have before stated, there is not a law of man's nature 
drunkenness does not outrage ; nor any duty, whether to our- 
selves or others, it does not violate : and God has said, through- 
out the universe, in vain may happiness be sought but by the 
performance of duty. It paralyses the moral energies as with 
the touch of death. In a word, it is man's evil genius. 

God has been pleased to place the enjoyment of the high- 
est earthly bliss in the domestic relation of husband and wife. 
The voluptuous Turk, who revels in the debauchery of the 
harem, the libertine, who boasts that, like the bee, he sips sweets 
from a thousand blossoms, has no conception of that bliss with- 
out alloy, that pleasure without remorse, that contentment of 



190 INTEMPERANCE. 

spirit, that calm, quiet joy that gladdens the heart of the hus- 
band of one wife, the father of a healthy, virtuous offspring* 
born in holy wedlock. In this relation alone is to be found on 
earth that perfection of bliss, that fills up the capacities of the 
soul for enjoyment. Marriage is the beautiful image that comes 
like a messenger divine to our early dreams of happiness. It is 
the Eldorado to the heart's young hopes; the oasis amid the 
desert waste of life, smiling in beauty, gladdening the fainting 
heart of the traveler ; a green island, laughing amid the ocean's 
tempests. The fisherman of Lapland, returning from his daily 
toil, cold, wet, and benumbed, feels his heart warm within him 
as he hears the voice of his wife breaking over the waves, call- 
ing to him, "come home, come home." To the sacred relation 
of marriage the thoughts of the good and virtuous tend, as the 
rivers to the ocean. This is the casket that contains the richest 
jewel of happiness. Here are garnered up the heart's fondest 
hopes and dearest joys ; and if these hopes are blasted, if these 
joys are lost, 

"Life hath no more to bring 
But mockeries of the past alone." 

But drunkenness is the serpent that enters this blissful Eden, 
to mar its pleasures, and drive forth that happy pair from those 
delightful walks and shady bowers, where, with every thing 
" sweet to sense and lovely to the eye " they had passed away 
their lives " like a beautiful dream." At the presence of the 
monster, the flowers of hope and happiness, the rosebuds of love 
that bloom in this garden fade away, and thorns, brambles, and 
noxious weeds spring up in his path. Where spring bedecked 
the earth with flowers, winter, bleak winter, now sheds its deso- 
lation. The wife beholds " him who was her chosen," to fol- 
low whom she had forsaken father, mother, the home of her 



INTEMPERANCE. 191 

childhood, and all the world besides — him to whom she had 
committed her destiny, in all the confidence of love — banished 
from society, wandering a beggar, an outcast upon the earth, 
bankrupt in fortune, bankrupt in morals, bankrupt even in hope. 
Is that he who a few years ago commenced life with such bril- 
liant prospects before him? Who had youth, health, talent, 
fame, fortune, a home endeared by the love of the loveliest of 
women, every thing that could make life desirable, or that the 
human heart could wish ? He wears the same name, but there 
stops the parallel ! And does his wife forsake him ? No ! 
True to her sex, true to her own kind nature, with a self-sacri- 
ficing devotion, she clings to him even in his degradation ! And 
like the tender vine, she attempts to bind up and conceal the 
shattered trunk of the oak blasted by the lightnings of heaven ! 
Is that the lovely bride, the beautiful among the beauteous, 
the gaze of every admiring eye, the beloved of all, whom we 
saw led unto the altar, and with thoughts pure as the dreams 
of the infant mind unstained by sin, and hopes bright as the 
sky in evening beauty, vow to love, and live for him to whom 
she had plighted her }^oung heart, rich in the untold treasures 
of a maiden's first love? Yes, 'tis she. But now how chang- 
ed ! The bridal wreath has faded from that brow which the 
gloomy cypress now encircles. That eye swims tears that 
erst laughed out in joy. In that heart, once the abode of every 
happy thought, desolation now holds its empire. The beau- 
tiful rose torn from its stem lies withering on the ground. The 
young wife, with no patrimony left but her honor, no friend 
but her God, no tie binding her to earth but her babes, is thus 
penniless, friendless, homeless, thrown upon the mercy of the 
cold charities of the world ! Who now will soothe the an- 
guish of that mother's heart, and satisfy the cries of those 
children for bread? The winds with hollow moan, as they 



192 INTEMPERANCE. 

sweep by the lonely cottage, give back the only answer to their 
wailing cries. The father sleeps in a drunkard's grave, and 
heeds not the storms that hold their revels above his head! 

This is no surcharged picture. The penciling has failed to 
express half the deformities that mark the orginal with which 
every one is familiar who has mingled with the world. The 
wife who was reared in ease and luxury, whose every want 
was not only supplied, but anticipated, by the fondest of pa- 
rents, is now left to struggle unaided against the rude winds 
of adversity, and forced to provide from her own labor for the 
wants of herself and family. The children, whose tender 
years need a father's fostering care, without education, without 
habits of industry, and fixed moral principles, without every 
thing but those evil passions, that, like weeds in a neglected 
garden, have run to riot for want of timely pruning, are turned 
upon society, beset with every temptation, idleness, poverty, 
want, and shame, to do wrong. What will be their destiny, 
God alone, in his wisdom, can foresee ; but the future forbodes 
no good. 

Considered as a mere political system, the establishment of 
society into families, with a ruler over each having power to 
create and execute laws for its regulation, is one of the wisest 
schemes of policy that ever was conceived of by the legisla- 
tor. It is the best pledge the state can have for the welfare 
of the rising generation, upon whose shoulders her fabric must 
soon rest ; because the father is moved by his natural affec- 
tions, and by a sense of duty, to provide a settlement in life, 
and give a good education and sound moral training to those 
who are indebted to him for their existence. The parent is 
the guardian for the child and the trustee for the state. A 
family is the state in miniature where the young mind is taught 
the duty of submission to lawful authority, and learned to bear 



INTEMPERANCE. 193 

the bit and endure the rein of wholesome restraint, whereby 
the child is trained for the higher duties of the citizen. 

But the tendency, nay the effect, of drunkenness is to coun- 
teract all the consequences of good arising from the establish- 
ment of this system. It takes away from the family its head, 
its protector, or what is worse, converts him into a curse instead 
of a blessing to that family. The wife is robbed of her hus- 
band, the children of their father, and the state, instead of the 
healthy, virtuous, well educated citizens she had a right to 
expect, and who might have added new trophies to her renown, 
is cursed with a set of tattered prodigals, miserable paupers, 
vicious, uneducated vagabonds, that exhaust but supply not her 
resources — that scatter but gather not up to her wealth ; and 
thus they go forth, not only corrupt in themselves, but corrupt- 
ing others with whom they come in contact, who in their turn 
corrupt ; thus becoming new starting points of evil which con- 
tinually widens its circle, until it is diffused into every ramifi- 
cation of society. Who can calculate the injury one single 
wicked influence exerts upon the community? Like the stone 
thrown into the calm lake, the commotion stirred is conveyed 
from wave to wave, until the last one has dashed and died 
against the rocky shore. The bones of Hume, Rosseau, Vol- 
taire, and Paine have long since mouldered into dust, but the 
influence they exerted for evil still lives, and will continue to 
live till the death of time. 

A late distinguished Attorney General of the United States, 
after a careful examination of the statistics, estimated the an- 
nual cost of ardent spirits to the nation, directly and as a con- 
sequence of disease and crime, at one hundred millions of dol- 
lars — a sum equal to four times that necessary to defray the 
ordinary expenses of government. One hundred millions of 

dollars per annum we pay to besot our minds, debase our mor- 

13 



194 INTEMPERANCE. 

als, and paralyze our bodies ! How small a cost for such a 
glorious blessing ! 

Suppose this amount was distributed amongst the different 
States, it would enable them to pay off their debts, to clear out 
their rivers, improve their harbors, cut canals, build rail-roads, 
bridge their highways, establish free schools for the education 
of the poor, and erect asylums for the relief of the afflicted. 
But this sum had better far be thrown into the sea than expend- 
ed as it now is. It goes to purchase that whereby wives are 
beggared, children reduced to starvation, and the greyheaded 
sires are deprived of their comforts, and brought to want and 
suffering in their old age. 

And by whom is this enormous burden borne 1 By the la- 
boring interest. There is no political maxim better established, 
than that all expenditures are a charge upon labor. It is labor 
that supplies the continued drain upon a nation's or an individ- 
ual's resources. This is the propelling power without which 
the machinery of government must stand still. Let the labor- 
ing classes think of this, and say if they are willing their indus- 
try and ingenuity shall be taxed, annually, one hundred mil- 
lions of dollars to bring ruin upon themselves and the country. 

But this is, by no means, the main cost to the nation. Our 
soil is so productive, our industry so active, our energies so vig- 
orous, that we can bear all this and more without being im- 
poverished. It is that intellectual night, that moral bankruptcy 
which drunkenness brings upon the country, this is the loss to 
the nation that cannot be reckoned by dollars and cents. Fire, 
famine, pestilence, and the sword may ravage her borders, her 
cities may be laid in ashes, her fields drenched in the blood of 
her citizens, the elements of heaven may lend their aid to com- 
plete the work of desolation, yet, if her moral energies are 
unimpaired, from all these calamities she may recover. But 



INTEMPERANCE. 195 

when these are destroyed she has lost her last and only hope. 
She hath no longer any vivifying, self-reviving principle. It is 
the moral energy of a nation that mans the hearts of her sailors 
as they clamber up the mast to rig the vessel for the fight, or 
for the coming storm — that nerves the arm of her soldiery as 
they scale the spear-covered battlements, where death gleams in 
every lance. And here I repeat, that no nation has any host- 
age of security but in the morals of her people. 

And what remedy have we for all these evils ? I know but 
one of safety — total abstinence from all stimulating drinks as a 
beverage. All other temporizing expedients, like an opiate 
given to a man who has swallowed a deadly poison, may lull 
the pain but will fail to remove the danger. Would you 
destroy the tree, content not yourself with lopping off the 
branches, but pluck it up by the roots. If you have never 
indulged the use of ardent spirits, your plan of safety is to 
cherish and maintain your scruples about the first indulgence. 
The only way to be virtuous or temperate is to be wholly so. 
To hold dalliance with vice, specially that of drunkenness, is 
certain death. The general who would break down his walls 
to show that he depended upon nothing but the valor of his 
troops and his own skill for defence, might be applauded for 
his daring ; but should certainly be censured for his rashness. 
No situation so secure, no safeguard so complete, as to be re- 
moved not only from all exposure, but all possible liability to 
danger. I think I hear some sensible young man reply — " I 
admit the truth of all you have said. I know drunkenness to 
be all and more than you have described ; but what you have 
said does not reach my case. I am a moderate drinker. I 
know when to indulge and how much, and when to refrain ; 
and I have such perfect command over my appetite, that I can 



196 INTEMPERANCE. 

wholly abandon it whenever I please. Therefore, thy warn- 
ings are lost upon me. 

Alas ! I fear they are ! The enemy has completely deluded 
thee by his siren song of security and safety. You are asleep, 
and know not that the volcano is ready to open at your feet and 
overwhelm you with its burning lava. The fallacious reason- 
ings you offer, are the same with which every drunkard in the 
world has first deceived himself, and then attempted to impose 
upon others. I know I run the risk of offending you when I 
tell you, there is danger of your becoming a drunkard. But 
the truth must be told. No man ever dreamed of becoming so 
when he commenced. See that poor wretch yonder, wallowing 
in the gutters of the street — that living libel upon the dignity of 
man — that epitome of human degradation; he, like yourself, 
was once a moderate drinker. So was the man who yesterday 
expiated a life of crime upon the gallows. I know you are sin- 
cere. Your confidence is an honest boldness ; but you are de- 
ceived. I have heard many who were your equals in talent, in' 
firmness, in forbearance, in that self-control of which you boast, 
speak the same things, and yet, before they had arrived at mid- 
dle age, I have seen them sink into the grave of the drunkard. 
From the warning voice of the past learn a lesson of wisdom, 
and prepare for the future. If you can refrain so easily as you 
say, why do you not do it 1 Why will you tempt a danger that 
has proved the ruin of thousands? The answer is at hand — 
you have become the slave and not the master of your appetite 
as you boast. 

The very best reason why the temperate should take the 
pledge of total abstinence is, the very one they give for not 
doing it — that they are whole and need not a physician, that 
they are already temperate, and need nothing to make them so ; 
because this very absence of a wish to indulge is the best secu- 



INTEMPERANCE. 197 

nty human frailty will allow that they will keep their pledge 
inviolate ; and thus, ever be, as they are now, strictly temperate, 
I admit, at present you may be safe. But you cannot look 
down the long vista of the future. You know not to what 
trials, to what temptations you may be exposed; the many 
cares, losses, disappointments, and vexations of spirit, that may 
fall to thy lot ; the many exposures to wind and rain, heat and 
cold, you may have to undergo ; all pleading with thee to forget 
thy sorrows, and find temporary relief in the sparkling glass. 
Prepare, then, for the future, by retaining thy intellect un- 
clouded, thy moral energies invigorated, so that you can struggle 
against any fate with the might of a man. 

How much easier is it to avoid forming a bad habit, than to 
refrain from its indulgence after it is once formed. The stone 
rolled from the mountain side, when it first began to move might 
have been stayed by an infant's arm ; but after it has rolled on, 
bounding from point to point, a giant's might could not arrest its 
course. The fountain that gurgles, unnoticed, from the rock, 
forms a mighty river. The crisis in the drunkard's life is at the 
commencement of the use of ardent spirits. The falling of 
a single flake of snow from the mountain peak causes the 
avalanche. 

And to you who may have already contracted this habit, I 
would say, arise at once, and fly to the city of refuge ere it is 
too late. Several cases, perhaps more hopeless than 3^our own 
have been rescued from the brink of the grave, and from the 
very mouth of hell. Escape, then, as a bird from the snare of 
the fowler. Your private pledges are not sufficient. Could thy 
midnight pillow witness against thee, did thy tongue confess 
what thy own heart doth know, could the groves and secret 
places of nature speak, how oft in bitterness of spirit and deep 
contrition of heart, thou hast promised thyself and vowed to thy 



198 INTEMPERANCE. 

God " sin no more," they would show how weak a thing the 
heart is, when spell bound by the sorcery of an evil passion. 
No one accuses you of insincerity in such pledges, and yet you 
know you have not kept them. Though made in all confi- 
dence, they became mere pack-threads upon the unshorn Samp- 
son they in vain attempted to bind. This, then, may show the 
futility of such pledges as, from their privacy, do not bring 
along with them the penal sanction of public censure for their 
violation. Now the pledge we propose provides a remedy for 
that wherein your private pledge was defective. It is not only 
binding upon the conscience as the other was, but it brings with 
it the terror of the axe and rods of the Lictor — public opinion. 
And here, by way of episode, let me suggest the necessity of 
correcting and setting aright public opinion, since it is that 
which gives law to this and all other elective governments. 
Let this magistrate, of whom we stand so much in awe, have 
no terror but for evil doers, teach nothing that is wrong, and 
prohibit nothing that is right. 

Much good has been done, and is still being done, by the 
Temperance Societies. We have no wish to underrate their 
value, or detract aught from their well-earned title to the pub- 
lic confidence. They have saved thousands, and tens of thou- 
sands, from ruin ; have raised altars of affection and friendship long 
broken down ; have made the widowed heart leap for joy, and 
wiped tears from the orphan's eye ; and made the fires of joy 
and gladness again burn brightly, on hearths where grief and 
melancholy have strewed their ashes. They had moral force, 
but lacked that concentration and union which give the greatest 
strength. Their numbers were immense, but lacked discipline. 

To remedy these defects — to concentrate those energies that 
lost much of their effect by being scattered, to discipline and 
form into a regular army those hordes of raw militia, to collect 



INTEMPERANCE. 199 

that scattered mass of waters into one deep, narrow, Alpine 
torrent that shall bear off every thing before it — the " Order of 
the Sons of Temperance" was established. The organization 
of this great moral force is as plain and void of complexity as 
can be consistent with unity and strength. The whole system 
contemplates an allotment of power and duties among several 
jurisdictions, to wit : a National Division, State Divisions, and 
Subordinate Divisions. The bond of union is very simple — 
total abstinence from all stimulating drinks as a beverage; but 
the constitution and by-laws go further, and provide for aid in 
sickness, and relief in distress. It is a great brotherhood, in 
which each member feels that he has a common interest, and is 
subject to a common duty of battling against intemperance and 
vice, and promoting the good of our common country. 

This great moral project was set on foot in 1842, by sixteen 
men, " good and true," who having felt the insufficiency of the 
Temperance Societies to do all the wants of the unfortunate 
required, met in the city of New-York, to adopt a more syste- 
matic plan of operations. They organized the moral armament 
now before me, placed the sword of truth, burnished, into each 
soldier's hands, unfurled the banners of fidelity, out-posted 
scouts and sentinels, until the drum-beat of the whole line now 
answers the most distant report of danger. 

Its object is the subjugation of no province, the sacking of no 
city, the invasion of no foreign territory ; but the preservation 
of human right, the security of individual peace and domestic 
tranquillity, the extirpation of vice, crime, and human misery. 
At this time, it numbers its thousands, tens and scores of thou- 
sands, made up of every sex, every party, every condition, in 
life. As a means of preserving the identity of the Order, and 
of guarding its members against the impositions of the crafty 
and unworthy, there are adopted certain signs of recognition, 



200 INTEMPERANCE. 

and words of passport, which, of course, must be a mystery to 
all but the initiated. This we are sorry to learn, has been made 
the cause of objection by some. 

Is this a ground for a serious objection? Who can under- 
stand and explain the mysterious union of mind and matter, 
spirit and body, which makes man the strange, complex being 
that he is 1 All we know are the facts, and these should satisfy 
us in other matters of less complexity. There is deep insolu- 
ble mystery in the ocean. Who can tell from whence it derives 
its eternal supplies of salt 1 Who hath numbered the multitude 
that people its waters, or counted the treasures of its coral beds ? 
We hear the low breathings of the zephyrs at morn, the thun- 
dering of the storm at noon, but cannot tell whence they come 
or whither they go. When God descended amid the thunder 
of Sinai, he was pleased to veil, with a thick cloud, his glory 
from mortal gaze. The whole world is a mystery, at least to 
the finite conceptions of man. 

But it is secret in its operations. You do not see the propel- 
ling power that moves the machinery, but you witness the effect 
of the force that is gained ; and though we cannot trace the 
stream back to the fountain, and explain whence it derives those 
properties, we know its waters are healthful and fertilizing. In 
this, as in every other instance, we should judge of the system 
by its fruit. But this very secrecy is attended with good. It 
keeps alive that interest, the want of which was so much felt in 
the old Temperance Societies. 

It offers a great rallying point to our best energies. Purity in 
our affections, fidelity in our engagements, uprightness in our 
actions, and love to our race, are inscribed upon our banners ; 
and the true Son of Temperance carries them with him in every 
department of private, domestic, and social life, as the embla- 
zonry of his principles. We profess nothing that patriotism does 



INTEMPERANCE. 201 

not approve ; nothing- that philanthropy does not cherish ; noth- 
ing that the purest religion does not sanction. We make no 
offerings to avarice ; erect no altars to ambition. Our only end 
and aim is to do good to our race, to redeem our country from 
the bondage of vice, to purify our public sentiment, and to 
secure to the people of this great commonwealth that moral 
freedom which brings its charter from Heaven. 

And yet, there are thousands whose piety we do not question, 
who stand aloof from this affiliation ; and, as far as example can 
go, obstruct its progress, and lessen its means of usefulness. 
Christians ! beware that you be not found fighting on the side 
of evil. Examine the ground on which you stand. You are 
bound, by your allegiance to your great leader to be ready for 
every good work. If you love your country we offer to you a 
field for patriotic labors ; if you delight in deeds of philanthropyj 
the sufferings of men, the griefs, sorrows, and bereavements of 
helpless women and unoffending orphans, call for your aid. If 
you love your God, we offer to you an enterprise we believe He 
will own and bless. Delay, then, no longer, but give us your 
hearty co-operation. 

We call upon you to do battle for your country. It is inva- 
ded by an unrelenting foe that spares not the young man in his 
strength, nor the old man in his weakness. Arouse yourselves 
to oppose his further ravages. And should you conquer, though 
no proud monument may be reared on earth to perpetuate your 
name, no fading laurel shall encircle your brow, yet you will 
hear that which is above the praise or worship of men — the ap- 
plause of an approving conscience ; and when the trampling of 
death's chariot steeds is heard at thy door, thou canst look back 
without regret, without self-reproach, upon a well spent life, 
and hear the voice of thy God calling thee up to that reward 
which awaits thee in Heaven. 



LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE 



BY E. F. ELLET. 



Look not upon the wine — thoughtless one ! 

While you have gifts that it may steal away : 
Youth/ grace, and wit and genius, now your own, 

Are all too precious for the spoiler's prey. 

Look not upon the wine ! Unto your mind 

Were given broad eagle wings to sweep the sky; 

Ah ! do not to the dust its pinions bind, 

While those of meaner birth may soar on high. 

Look not upon the wine ! a garden rare, 
A treasury of wealth untold, your heart; 

Crush not the flowers that bloom so lovely there; 
Dim not the gems that mock the crowns of art. 



LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE. 203 

The love of kindred, and the joy of friends 
Y Around you cling — as to the oak the vine ; 
To every circle, light your presence lends — 
Oh, look not on the soul-destroying wine ! 

Leave to the dull, th' ignoble, and the slave, 
A joy so base — a strife with such a foe — 

Whom to o'ercome no honor brings the brave — 
To fall by whom were triple shame and woe. 

Look not upon the wine ! heed not the spell ! 

Yourself, so noble and so gifted, spare ; 
Think of the friends who love you passing well ; 
Think of your plighted promise, and forbear! 



DR. LYMAN BEECHER, 

Was born at New Haven, Conn., September 12, 1775. His 
father David Beecher, a blacksmith, is supposed to have descend- 
ed from one of the four Beechers who were among the one 
hundred and twenty-nine proprietors of the town of N. Haven 
in 1685. His mother was Catharine Lyman of Middlefield, and 
died in child-bed with Lyman her first and only child. On her 
death-bed she bequeathed the feeble infant to her sister, the wife 
of Lot Benton, a farmer of North Guilford, who was childless. 
The infant when received by the foster-parents was extremely 
feeble, and said to weigh only three pounds — according to the 
institutions of Lycurgus he should have been thrown into the 
Apothetae, and thus finally disposed of; but as he had the good 
fortune to be born in New England in christian times, he was 
allowed to try his chance, and grew up to be capable of more 
physical and mental vigor and endurance than falls to the lot of 
most men. This development of a naturally feeble system, 
was probably owing to an early farming education on a hard 
soil, and in the cold and bracing climate of New England. 

It soon became evident, as well to the indulgent foster-parents, 
as to the young man himself, that farming was not to be his 
particular vocation, and accoidingly he began to fit for college, 










■ bi b T I ■• 






g ±yj o ±vj o 



.,/,/,,/ 



i 



DR. LYMAN BEECHER. 205 

under the care of Rev. Thomas Bray, minister of the parish, 
and he subsequently graduated at Yale College, and pursued his 
theological studies at the same place under the care of Dr. 
Dwight, for whom, even down to the latest years of his life, he 
has ever cherished an admiring and venerative attachment. 

His ministerial career commenced at East Hampton, Long 
Island, where he was ordained in September, 1798. In 1810, 
he received a call from the first Congregational Church in Litch- 
field, Conn., with which he continued his connection till March 
1826. During this time he published several sermons, and assist- 
ed in forming various benevolent societies. In 1826, he received 
a call from the Hanover street Church, Boston, where he con- 
tinued six years and a half, and in 1832, he received a call to 
the Presidency of Lane Seminary, where for ten years, in addi- 
tion to the duties of that office, he performed those of pastor, in 
the second Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati — the latter situation 
he then relinquished, in order to devote himself more exclusively 
to those of the former, which he still sustains. 

Such is a brief outline of his life thus far. His history as con- 
nected with the Temperance Reform we shall give more fully, 
deriving our information from the notes of a speech which he 
made in London at the time of the World's Convention, in 
which he proposed briefly to sketch the history of the American 
Temperance Reformation. 

In the earlier periods of the New England colonies there was 
no general prevalence of Intemperance. 

Our prudent and careful forefathers, considering alcohol as a 
good servant but a bad master, took it out of the list of articles 
of ordinary lawful traffic, and placed it for safe keeping in the 
hands of men of well established and trusty character, by whom 
all such sales as were essential were conducted — drunkenness 



206 DR. LYMAN BEECHER. 

was a crime severely punished by law, and the instances of its 
occurrence were very rare. 

Even down as late as the boyhood of the subject of our 
sketch, he was able to declare, that there was no tippling shop 
in the town where he was brought up, and he remembers to 
have heard of but one drunkard. But in the course of twenty 
years after, it had become an article of ordinary traffic, and what 
is called its temperate use had become universal — on land and 
by sea — on farm and in workshop, as well as in circles of refi- 
ned hospitality it was fearlessly circulated, and the church and 
ministry participated without apprehension or remonstrance. 

At all ecclesiastical meetings the pipe and the brandy bottle 
were held to be necessary adjuvants to good fellowship and 
brotherly love — and in the pastor's fireside visitations, the good 
wife was never wanting in this form of hospitality. Come wife, 
" here's the minister, out with the big chair and the brandy bot- 
tle," used to be a familiar saying of a hospitable old household, 
of whom we were wont to hear in our childhood ; nor did this 
collocation so astounding in our days sound at all inappropriate, 
or savor the least of reproach in those days — since in simple 
verity, the brandy bottle was then the main stay of good cheer 
and the pledge of cordiality. Wives, mothers, and sisters all 
drank in various forms of the genial element, and the glitter of 
wine glasses and decanters, and skill in compounding and setting 
forth the various beverages which gave vivacity to the social 
hour, formed no inconsiderable part of the pride and accom- 
plishment of a notable housekeeper. 

It is not wonderful, therefore, that families were constantly 
scandalised by the falling of one or another of their members 
into open and scandalous intemperance — that there were wives 
and mothers no longer fit for their place as either — ministers 
unfit for the sacred desk, and that the most brilliant talent, the 



DR. LYMAN BEECHER. 207 

most respectable position, the most sacred office offered no gua- 
rantee against the wiles of the destroyer. 

The writer not long since was riding with a venerable old 
gentleman through one of the neat New England villages — 
stopping at a point which commanded a view of the principal 

street, he pointed to one and another house — There is the L 

house — he died a drunkard, — there lived Mr. B , he died a 

drunkard. — In that house the father and two sons died drunk- 
ards, and so on down the street, until it seemed to the listener 
that as of old in Egypt the destroyer had been to every dwell- 
ing, and that there was " not a house where there was not one 
dead." 

This state of things very early attracted the attention of Dr. 
Beecher after he was settled in the ministry. — About this time 
he fell in with a treatise by Dr. Rush of Philadelphia, which 
strongly affected his mind and led him to think more earnestly 
on the subject than ever before ; he fell in also with some 
accounts of societies for reform of morals which had been insti- 
tuted in London, under the influence of which he preached a 
sermon, afterwards published, entitled, a " Reform in Morals, 
necessary and practicable." Under the influence of this dis- 
course a society for reform in morals, generally, was formed in 
his parish, which had relation not only to temperance but to the 
observance of the Sabbath, and other matters connected with 
public morals. 

Subsequently the same subject engaged his attention after his 
removal to Connecticut. — He preached the same sermon, some- 
what enlarged, before a meeting in New Haven at a time when 
the legislature was in session, strongly urging on ministers and 
magistrates to do all in their power both by influence and by the 
arm of law, to repress the growing immoralities of the times. 
Similar appeals from the pulpit began to be universally made, 



208 DR. LYMAN BEECHER. 

and magistrates were roused to greater diligence in enforcing 
existing laws against intemperance, the desecration of the Sab- 
bath and other kindred evils. This stringency of law brought 
suddenly down on the community, produced an immediate po- 
litical revolution. — The old magistracy were universally super- 
seded to make room for such as should be more agreeable to pub- 
lic sentiment, and thus of course old laws became a dead letter. 

At first this change produced a general consternation among 
the better part of the community, but it gradually became appa- 
rent to leading minds that there was a higher and surer way of 
leading on reform than by the arm of law, and that weapons 
more mighty than those of physical force yet remained in their 
hands. Dr. Beecher was one of the first to see and rejoice in this 
conviction, and the writer in early childhood remembers having 
often heard him express the sentiment that this political change 
was to them a matter of congratulation, because it had opened 
before them a more excellent way of effecting their purposes. 

About this time the General Association of Connecticut Min- 
isters appointed a committee to consider the subject of Intem- 
perance, and the means of its suppression. The next } r ear, in 
a similar meeting, the committee reported that Intemperance 
was fast increasing, but after a most earnest and prayerful atten- 
tion to the subject they had not been able to see any thing that 
could be done for its suppression. 

Dr. Beecher immediately rose and moved that a committee 
be appointed to report on the means of prevention of Intem- 
perance. The motion was carried, and he and the Rev. Mr. 
Dutton of Guilford, were chosen for the purpose. They recom- 
mended — 

1st. That ardent spirits should be totally discontinued in all 
ecclesiastical meetings, and in all the families of ministers and 
members of churches. 



DR. LYMAN BEECHER. 209 

2d. That it should no longer be given as an adjuvant of labor 
by land or by sea. 

3d. That every minister from his pulpit should enlighten his 
people as to their duties in this respect, and urge upon them 
immediate and total abstinence. 

This course commended itself instantaneously to the public 
mind, and may almost be said to have been carried by acclama- 
tion through the State — and a great unprecedented and univer- 
sal reform followed. Not only ministers but civilians in every 
grade, governors, judges, lawyers, medical men, loudly and 
openly expressed their approbation and added the sanction of 
their example. This was the first marked and leading Tem- 
perance Reform in America, and preceded by many years the 
formation of the first Temperance Society in Massachusetts. 
From that time the use of ardent spirits ceased entirely from all 
ecclesiastical meetings — ceased to be an essential part of hospi- 
tality, and fell into general disuse in all well-regulated and pious 
families. The reform being one of public sentiment was one 
which no caprices of political demagogues could overthrow, and 
its beneficial results are felt to this day. 

About this time was conceived the plan of Dr. Beecher's six 
sermons on Intemperance. A painful earnestness was given 
to this effort by certain private circumstances. He had dis- 
covered, with painful surprise that two leading members of his 
Church, to whom he was attached by strong personal friend- 
ship, had unconsciously to themselves, perhaps, been beguiled 
by the insidious tempter to the very verge of ruin — and the 
preaching of these sermons was a warning cry which he lifted 
in the very distress and earnestness of his soul, to show them if 
possible, their danger. 

These sermons have been successively translate^ into Ger- 
man, French, Swedish, Danish, and lastly into the Hottentot. 

14 



210 DR. LYMAN BEECHER. 

When Professor Stowe was in London in 1836, there was there 
a Hottentot Chief with six or seven of his tribe, who had come 
over with Rev. Dr. Philip, Missionary to South Africa. Learn- 
ing that a son-in-law of Dr. Beecher, author of the sermons on 
Intemperance, was in London they expressed quite an anxiety 
to see him, and in an interview which Professor Stowe had with 
them, expressed their great delight and edification in these pub- 
lications which they said had done great good among the Hot- 
tentots. 

Dr. Beecher, at the age of 74, is still in vigorous health and 
able to perform all his duties as Professor, and preaches as 
opportunity offers with acceptance and success. 



APPEAL 

TO THE 

IL.ABE3SS ©F AM3^3EI0'Ao 

BY REV. A. L. STONE, P. G. W. P. 

If we come to talk with you for awhile soberly and earnestly, 
it is because we think it no honor to you to offer you the per- 
petual incense of " small talk," because our theme demands 
soberness and earnestness and because — we will confess it — 
we greatly desire to win you as helpers and co-laborers in the 
good cause of Temperance. 

In this insurrection of virtue and humanity against the remorse- 
less despotism of appetite, if any class of society have a right 
to feel and act that right is yours. No voice can accuse you of 
meddling with what does not concern you. By all your sorrow- 
ful experiences, by the sad awful tragedies which have denied 
and violated the sancity of home — by the wail of want and woe 
from many a desolate hearth -stone, you are justified in publish- 
ing your league against the destroyer. While these gloomy 
annals remain, woman's interest in the progress of the Temper- 
ance movement none can question. 

In every relation of life in which her heart has been linked 



212 APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 

with other hearts, she has been stricken by the blight which the 
far-flying pestilence sheds from its wings. Of all ties on which 
the wealth of her nature is lavished, not one, however near, 
however tender, however sacred has been spared. To look up- 
on one in whom are garnered up all warm affections and bright 
hopes, and behold him passing under the shadow of that bon- 
dage which locks heart and brain, sense and soul, in its iron 
mastery, to couple the name of Drundard with one so dear, 
and to drag out a weary life, heart-broken, fast linked to brutality 
and shame, this is no common sorrow. Let us speak of these 
victims. 

THE BETROTHED. 

Here many a maiden wooed and won and plighting her troth 
to the youth of her heart, and looking forward to the near day 
when, having uttered bridal vows they shall set forth together — 
" Pilgrims of Life " — to her eye on all the future the golden 
sunshine lying — a strong arm, a faithful heart to lean upon — a 
manly form ever by her side, her grace and defence — the vigil- 
ance of love to shield her from all rough minds — has suddenly 
seen the vision dissolve before the dark magic of the bowl. He 
to whom she gave the priceless jewel of a maiden's truth, has 
found a deeper charm in the social glass. He comes to her 
presence flushed with wine — and, from his forward speech and 
eager eye and bold approaches, she must shrink sad and trem- 
bling into her maidenly reserve. He goes from her presence to 
wanton with her name amid the companions of his festive hours. 
Soon the finger of public regard singles him out as one on the 
road to ruin. Stirling the anguish of her heart, she ventures 
once and again some pleasant remonstrance. He listens, prom- 
ises, breaks his word, grows resentful, and plunges deeper into 



APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 213 

his excesses. Farewell to her bright dream. That image so 
dear she must banish from the chamber of her soul. With a 
sore and aching heart she must turn from that picture to the 
future. Long must it be before that deep wound in her breast 
shall be closed. If she go not down to an early grave, a with- 
ered flower nipt by an untimely frost, the scar of that wound, 
a painful memory, she will keep to her latest hour. 



THE DAUGHTER. 

Look again — here is another sad one from the band of maid- 
ens. He whom she calls by the honored name of Father, is no 
longer one to be reverenced. She cannot go and offer a daugh- 
ter's caresses to one reeking with the fumes of the revel. In 
the street cries of derision and insult follow him, every one of 
which is a dagger to her heart. And she bears his name — she 
is his child — she must blush for him and wear his shame, and 
walk in the shadow of his degradation — and look upon him 
fallen and loathsome as he is, as her father still. She has none 
to show her a father's love — none to enrich her with a father's 
blessing — none to breath for her a father's prayer. How such 
a grief must drink up the spirit ! If it do not quite kill, it must 
darken all the coloring of life. Another foot-print of the curse : 



THE SISTER. 

And here is one with a sister's faith, who knows what it is to 
hoard a brother's name and fame. She sees him starting in the 
race with eagle eye and lofty aim and generous resolves, and 
her ardent soul well nigh lends him wings. Ah, what joy it 
shall be to her to see him win and wear the wreath of honor — 
what a clinging pride shall be hers in his successes ! On the altar 



214 APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 

of his advancement she would think it a small thing to sacrifice 
hers. In his need she would give up peace and hope and well 
nigh life and honor to save or bless him. It is a deep well of 
truth and self-devotion, a sister's heart. But in that brother's 
path the snares of the enchanter are spread. The glow of the. 
wine-cup outshines the lustre of the bright distant goal he 
panted for. The eagle eye is soon dimmed — the nerve of en- 
deavor is palsied — the ardor of pursuit — the dream of fame — 
the hope and the purpose of eminent usefulness — that scheme 
of a life the world should feel, are all quenched in the fiery 
draught. Droops with that nobler life the sister's ardent soul. 
How can she bear the contrast between the dream and the real- 
ity ! How can she look upon him her trust and hope had man- 
tled with such heroic garniture, a poor slave of sense — sunk to a 
level with the brute! She cannot lean upon his arm — she 
cannot hold him to her heart — she cannot point him out with 
pride amid the throng — she can only weep over him and 
pray. There is bitterness in such tears — agony in such prayers. 



THE WIFE. 

Come now with me and look upon a yet sadder scene. 
Faintly glow the dying embers upon the hearth of a ruined 
cottage. It is a cold winter night and the pitiless blast shakes 
the rattling casement and drives in through many a crevice the 
falling snow. A feeble light struggles against the gloom of the 
apartment. By the light plying the busy needle upon a tat- 
tered garment sits a woman shivering in the bitter frost. Her 
face is pale and thin. In her look and attitude there is no hope. 
Often she sighs as the sharp pangs of a breaking heart rend her 
bosom. The moan of hungry children, moaning in sleep, 
comes to her ear, and the scalding tears overflow. She thinks 



1 



APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 215 

of the time when she was a light-hearted girl — when she stood 
up a joyous bride, and heard the promise spoken, to love, cherish 
and protect till death should dissolve the tie — when, in their 
bright sky, the first glass, the little cloud like a man's hand gave 
token of the rising storm, — when the first unkind word was 
spoken, the first pressure of want felt, the first shock of a 
drunken husband reeling across the threshold smote her heart. 
Sad musings are thine, lovely wife, as thou pliest still the needle 
by the dim light in the desolate room, the winter without and 
within, and yet again within. But she pauses in her work. A 
foot is on the step — a hand pushes the door open. Oh, how 
unlike, the face, the form, the step, the voice, the salutation to 
those she remembers so well ! And she is chained to this 
" body of death" He has a right to call her wife. He may 
approach her and she cannot fly. He may silence the moaning 
children with blows and curses and she can only interpose her 
frail form. And there is no release for her till death come. 
More than widowed, with society to which dreariest solitude 
were paradise — home, that dearest word of earth's dialect, to her 
another name for all wretchedness and no appeal save to the 
Chancery of Heaven, no rest save in the grave. 



THE MOTHER. 



Look once more into a mother's heart. Her once proud boy 
is a slave to strong drink. How had she dreamed dreams over 
his cradle-slumbers ! How had she seen a radiant future mirror 
in his bright young eye. What a comfort should it be to her 
old heart to look out from the retreat of age upon his high and 
honorable path. What music to her ear to hear the world's 
voices speaking his name with honest praises. What a welcome 
should she keep for him coining from his elevated sphere of 



216 APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 

duty to sit with his honors like a child at his mother's feet. 
Descending- into the vale, how should she lean upon his heart, 
his arm, for strength and cheer. He lives, but nothing of all 
this is ever to be. He is yet in his earliest manhood, but all 
life's freshness is gone. In riotous living the glory and beauty 
of his youth are consumed. Filial reverence is dead within 
him. To the counsels of her who bore him, he gives back 
sullen looks — blasphemies — perhaps a blow. Oh, had he died 
years ago in his young innocence, before any of this history 
had passed upon him, leaving only the memory of his child- 
hood behind him, it had been a small grief compared with this 
living affliction. Those gray hairs shall be brought with sorrow 
to the grave. 

And not one of these scenes is a fancy sketch. Every one 
has had its original in fact. You have met them all in real 
life. Name and dates you can supply. And they have not 
been solitary histories. Many times over have they been en- 
acted. These mourning voices of mothers, and wives, and 
daughters, and sisters, and betrothed maidens have been lifted 
up, a great chorus, sounding through the land these many gen- 
erations. Oh, you are interested in this matter ; you have a 
right to speak and act. The sorrowful wastes in your manifold 
relations made desert, by the scourge of Intemperance, summon 
you to link your hearts and hands together around your house- 
hold shrines and keep them pure. 

And now will you bear with us a little longer, while we tell 
you what we would have you do. 

First of all — never put the glass to your own lips. We 
do not say this because we fear you will so far forget delicacy, 
refinement and womanhood, as to fall into ebriety. And yet 
this most loathsome spectacle of fallen humanity has been ex- 
hibited. But apart from this issue ; every lady who takes the 



APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 217 

wine-glass, lends all the charm of her manners, all the graces 
of her mind, and all the captivation of her social qualities to 
give currency to wine-drinking in the circle in which she 
moves. It cannot be thought a beastly excess to copy the ex- 
ample of a refined and cultivated woman. What young man 
can pronounce the habit degrading, or brutalizing when thus 
vindicated before his eyes by those whom he chiefly esteems 
and admires? An association with the glass is thus created 
which follows it every where — flinging around it a poetry, a 
romance, which hide all its deformity and wreath it ever with 
flowers. In scenes of excess where woman mingles not, her 
hand still graces the goblet, and endorses the revel. From such 
a fatal influence, keep your example we entreat you forever 
guiltless. 

Never put the glass into the hand of a young man. 
You know not how terrible shall be the issue of that one 
thoughtless act. He has, ere he met you, perhaps, felt his 
danger. He has been compelled to confess to his heart the 
growing power of a habit which he traces back to some such 
scene as this in which he stands by your side. On the brink 
of the abyss he has started back and sought to untwine the 
chords that were dragging him down. He is struggling like 
a wrestler with his appetite. He is yet weak before its giant 
power. If he yield a hair, if he allow it the least vantage, 
it will re-assert its dominion, he is its slave for life. He enters 
the circle where you meet him with his best resolves. Tearful 
eyes follow him — the agony of prayer goes with him — for other 
hearts are bound up in him. You are his temptress I With 
pleasant smiles and kind words you reach him the ruby draught. 
How can he resist 1 You have armed his old enemy against 
him. If he hesitate, some half-reproachful word, some new 
charm, the whispered spell, "You will drink with me," ensures 



218 APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 

the victory. You turn from him well pleased with your little 
triumph — the confession of your power. Ah, what have you 
done? Outblazes again the flame so nearly smothered. The 
demon of appetite within him takes the mastery again — it will 
be sated — it cries vehemently, "give, give, give" — it will have 
its gratification, in the face of broken vows, ruined hopes, wreck- 
ed fortunes, blighted household peace, dishonor, despair, death, 
it will have what it craves. From his dying chamber, or his cell 
of doom, whither turns his accusing eye? Back to that form 
of grace and beauty that stood by his side on the festal eve — 
and bade him pledge her in the wine — back to you Oh, smiling 
maiden, Oh, honored matron! Had you dreamed of this you 
would sooner have cut off your right hand than offered the fatal 
lure. And you cannot know that all this may not follow any 
such thoughtless act. Will you venture such an awful hazard ? 
Were it not much for you to feel and say, when such histories 
are recited, " I have not helped this ruin." Oh, what right 
have you to be strewing the path to a dishonored grave with 
roses and gilding it with smiles ? Who has given you leave to 
introduce the young men who seek your society into paths, 
which, if they follow them, lead them in such numbers to a 
miserable end? Take the resolution, again we beseech you, 
never, never, to pour the wine for another and commend it 
with your charms to his lips. Set the example of banishing 
from the sideboard, the service of glass. Amid the elegant 
profusion to which you invite your guests, let not the sparkle 
of the wine be seen. Purer shall be the sparkling flow of 
mirth and wit that take their inspiration from sparkling water. 
Never give your patronage in any way to those who sell 
ardent spirits as a beverage. If tradesmen dealing in the 
poison, who had still any character to lose, were deserted by all 
except their tippling customers, they could not hold up their 



APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 219 

heads a single day. But while they can point to ladies of stand- 
ing and fashion daily crossing their threshholds to satisfy their 
domestic necessities from their shelves, what force have all our 
arguments with them to prove the disgraceful nature of the traf- 
fic 1 They are not disgraced ! See what company they keep — 
see who endorse their respectability ! Let the ladies of our 
communities resolve never to give a farthing's trade to a grocer 
who sells rum, whatever inducement he may offer in the cheap- 
ness and excellence of his wares — never to enter a confectioner's 
saloon for refreshment where intoxicating drinks may be ob- 
tained, never of free choice to go to a summer " watering-place n 
where a bar is kept and these strongholds of intemperance are 
by this one act demolished. 

Put forth direct efforts to rescue the captives to strong 
drink. Here is a mission worthy all the self-sacrificing benevo- 
lence of woman's heart. It is one for which in her gentleness, 
her true delicacy, her incomparable tact, she is exactly fitted. 
Speak to the young man whom you see leaning to the vintage. 
You will know what to say. You will win his ear without 
alarming his pride. He will respond to you without taking 
offence. He will yield to you as a favor, as a personal gratifi- 
cation, what argument and reproaches would never have wrung 
from him. The forfeiture of your good opinion may be a more 
prevailing appeal with him than any loud-voiced warning. You 
will have the unspeakable satisfaction of saving him. 

Go to the fallen one — the poor outcast — the leprous drunkard. 
Show him what kindness there is yet felt for him. Give to him 
the hand he never hoped to see extended again to such as him, 
and plead with him. To you he will listen — your ministrations 
will melt the rime about his heart. Your very presence will 
bring healing. He will feel lifted a little from his degradation 
by such transient companionship. The memory of it will chas- 



220 APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 

ten him — that any so far removed from him, thought of him 
enough to seek him for his good — that they did not fear to soil 
their garments by approaching him on their errand of love. 
From your cheering and sympathizing words he will catch the 
hope of redemption, and 

" Like the stained web that whitens in the sun, 
Grow pure by being purely shone upon." 

Be you thus " Sisters of Charity " — angels of mercy to the sin- 
ning and hopeless, and the dark places of guilt and woe shall 
brighten at your coming, and instead of accusations from dying 
lips, there shall come upon you, "the blessing of many ready to 
perish." 

But some of you are far in advance of our. exhortation. We 
hail you, Daughters of Temperance as true yoke-fellows in 
our cause. We feel stronger and more sanguine as we look 
upon your banded array. You yourselves are stronger for your 
league. You are far more likely thus to accomplish social revo- 
lutions in the habits we deplore. You gird the timid thus with 
a new courage. You keep alive your own zeal, faith and hope. 
You surround the daughters of want, the stricken and the temp- 
ted, with a cordon of Love. 

Who shall question your propriety in all this 1 Is it unfemin- 
ine to pity the sinful and the suffering 1 Is it unfeminine to be 
active in works of charity % Is it indelicate to do by associated 
action some great good, you must fail if you attempt it alone ! 
I yield to none in the price I set upon true womanly modesty. 
I know the rhyme as well as another — 

" Look up — there is a small bright cloud 
Alone amid the skies ! — 
So high, so pure, and so apart, 
A woman's glory lies." 



APPEAL TO THE LADIES OF AMERICA. 221 

But it is her glory, her apostleship, to win the erring-, bind up 
the broken hearted, " lift up the hands that hang down and the 
feeble knees " — and shed peace and purity as flowers do frag- 
rance, all around. May she not enter into covenant with her 
sisters against a most destructive evil eminently social in its cha- 
racter ? Is it out of her place and sphere, unwomanly and 
questionable for her to attend and act in reform meetings where 
none but those of her own sex are present, — while it is just the 
height of delicacy and propriety for her to enter a parlor crowd- 
ed with ladies and gentlemen, in that undress which is strangely 
enough called full dress, and dance half the night away ! We 
beg of you to dismiss the thought forever. Closer draw your 
guardian league — Fast bound in this holy wedlock be you the 
Brides of Temperance ! On our side we have already the stern 
severe aspect of Truth, the testimonies of science, the warning 
utterances of experience, the hollow tones of untimely graves — 
it is yours to bring in the warmth of the affections — the poetry 
of woman's smiles — the eloquence of woman's tears — " the un- 
bought grace of life." 



THE OLD MAN'S LAST WISH 

[FOUNDED ON FACT.] 
BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. 

The Psalmist's span of life had past 

Full twenty years or more, 
And still the old man's footsteps tracked 

The sands on time's lone shore 
While Death's dark wave impatient swelled 

Those footprints to sweep o'er. 

Aye more than ninety years had shed 
Their sunshine and their shade, 

Since first upon that aged head 
A father's hand was laid, 

And now not one was left of all 
With whom his childhood played. 

The memory of that far off Past 

Had faded from his sight, 
The mists of many years had dimmed 

Life's golden morning light, 
And he was now content to watch 

The closing shades of night. 



THE OLD MAN'S LAST WISH. 223 

But when at length Death's summon's came, 

While breath was ebbing fast, 
Those veiling mists were rent atwain, 

As by a mighty blast, 
And once again the old man lived 

In that long hidden Past. 

Once more he saw the homestead where 

His youth had passed away, 
The trees that interlaced above 

Its roof so old and gray, 
The sheltering porch whose trellised vines 

Gleamed in the sunset ray. 

And strange unto his fading eyes 

The present quickly grew, 
The old familiar faces near 

Now wore an aspect new, 
And ever on his sinking heart 

A gloom their coming threw. 

"Oh take me home!" 'twas thus he spake 

To all who gathered nigh, 
" Beneath the roof where I was born, 

There would I choose to die — 
Then take me home, — oh take me home ! " 

' Twas still the old man's cry. 

For memory's voice within his soul 

Sang like a spirit-bird 
Until the tones of other years 

Alone his cold ear heard, 



224 THE OLD MAN'S LAST WISH. 

And all his nature's time sealed depths 
Were by that music stirred. 

And brighter still, and brighter grew 

These visions to the last, 
" Oh take me home ! " was still his cry 

While life was fleeting fast, 
And with this prayer upon his lips 

The weary spirit past. 

When on the grave's dark verge at last 

The time worn body lies, 
And visions of a brighter world 

Float past the glazing eyes, 
Oh ! who can tell what shape may take 

Those dreams of paradise ? 



Still to the struggling spirit clings 

The heavy weight of clay, 
It hath not yet put on its wings 

To soar from earth away, 
What marvel if its visions wear 

The glory of youth's day, 
And Life's bright morning star appears 

Like Heaven's first golden ray 1 



REV. THOMAS P. HUNT, 

G. W. A. OF PA. 

Rev. Thomas P. Hunt, was born in Charlotte County, Vir- 
ginia, Dec. 3, 1794. He lost his father when about three years 
old. A violent attack of hooping-cough, accompanied with 
much fever, during his infancy, resulted in leaving him deform- 
ed in body. The greater part of his youth was spent in a sick 
room. This proved a rich blessing ; for it left him continually 
under the watchful care of an intelligent and prayerful mother, 
to whose faithful discharge of duty, Mr. Hunt is indebted for 
all that he values. 

He graduated at Hampden Sydney College, in 1813. He 
spent some time in teaching. Then returned, as a resident 
graduate to College. He afterwards studied theology under the 
care of the Rev. Drs. Moses Hoge and John B. Rice. While 
under the care of Dr. Rice, he promised the Doctor, that when 
licenced to preach, he would use all proper occasions to preach 
against Intemperance, which at that time was making fearful 
ravages. This promise was made in 1822, and has been faith- 
fully kept. When the Temperance Reformation commenced 
it found Mr. Hunt laboring for its object. He immediately 



226 



REV. THOMAS P. HUNT,G.W.A, 



joined the Society. He was licenced to preach by the Presby- 
tery of Hanover, 1824. — Settled shortly after in Brunswick, 
Virginia. In 1827 he emancipated his slaves, and voluntarily 
passed from affluence to poverty. The same year he was called 
as Pastor to the capital of North Carolina. He remained there 
until 1830, when he accepted the offer of Agent for the State 
Temperance Society of North Carolina. During his labors in 
this office a revival of religion commenced under him at Wil- 
mington, North Carolina. Mr. Hunt remained there until 1834. 
In 1833 he was sent as a Delegate to the General Assembly of 
the Presbyterian Church, and also to the first Temperance Con- 
vention held in the world. He left Wilmington on an agency 
for Donaldson Academy, near Fayetteville, North Carolina. He 
was invited to visit New-York; his labours while there were 
greatly blessed, and he was invited to become lecturer on Tem- 
perance in that city. He remained there nearly two years. 
Then went to Philadelphia on this same business. He left Phi- 
ladelphia in 1840, for Wyoming, Pennsylvania, where he still 
resides, devoted to preaching, building up schools, and lecturing 
on Temperance. His health of late is not so robust as formerly, 
when he was in the habit of speaking from one to four times a 
day, without rest, for months together. He originated the Cold 
Water Army among the children. He was the first lecturer in 
favor of Total Abstinence, and his child's pledge of Total Ab- 
stinence is thought to be the first generally circulated pledge of 
the kind. He early assumed the ground that liquor-selling 
ought to be highly penal. He is widely known as " The 
Drunkard's Friend," and the Liquor-seller's vexation. He mar- 
ried a lady of his native State in 1832. Has five children, all 
daughters and tetotallers. 







E,ngdbyT.Uoney. 



IWf TolPo lllf, 









SOME THOUGHTS 

ON THE 

SUBJECT OF INTEMPERANCE. 

BY REV. H, HASTINGS WELD. 

He will be acknowledged one of the chief benefactors of his 
race, who shall devise and submit to the test of experience, the 
best and most effectual bar against the vice of Intemperance in 
the use of intoxicating liquors. Various attempts have been 
made, including, it would seem, every possible direction of 
human wisdom, to abate the evil. Some plans contemplate 
prevention only, by guarding against the formation of the habit. 
Others attempt the reformation of those who have already con- 
tracted the mad propensity. And in our own day the plans of 
philanthropists embrace both the cure of inebriates, and the 
diminution of the class, by binding youth, and even infancy to 
total abstinence. 

It has been charged that the Americans as a people are or 
have been more addicted to strong drink than any other. We 



228 SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 

are not disposed to concede this ; and facts and statistics had we 
place for them would, we are sure bear us out in the denial. 
But we must admit that there is sufficient intemperance in drink 
among us to shock the most apathetic, and to call for earnest 
efforts to check the evil. We see many causes for this unfortu- 
nate fact, some of which seem to be almost irremediable. Fore- 
most among these is the universal proneness to excitement, 
which marks our commercial, social, and political lives. — This 
cannot better be denned than by borrowing a phrase from the 
vernacular — a phrase undignified, certainly, but as certainly ex- 
pressive. In all things it is the natural habit to " go it with a 
rush ! " 

Our commercial affairs are celebrated for crisis — occurring 
almost with the regularity of periodical agues. Whatever is 
done must be done furiously, or the doers fancy that they are 
doing nothing. No matter what branch of trade, what pursuit 
or speculation happens to be the fashion, men madly pursue it, 
until the thing is overdone, and the hobby of the hour is found- 
ered and ridden to death. To-day the merchant or speculator 
counts his ideal thousands or millions — to-morrow, a change has 
come over his dream, and he is in the depth of dejection at his 
absolute poverty. If we could divest ourselves of the know- 
ledge of the actual and miserable suffering which attends these 
sudden exaltations, and reverses as sudden ; if we could forget 
the wife reduced from idle affluence to humiliating want — if we 
could shut out from our thoughts the children, who feel the turn 
in fortune's wheel the more keenly, since their inexperienced 
vanity in prosperity, exposes them to keen insult in adversity : — 
if as unconcerned and unfeeling spectators we could observe all 
this, no spectacle could be more amusing. The magic changes 
of the pantomime are nothing to it. No juggler's feat or me- 
chanical dexterity can produce revolutions so instantaneous. 



SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 229 

He who is cynic enough to sneer at misfortune, and to find 
diversion in calamity, need desire no more abundant drolleries 
than commercial revulsions furnish. 

Now, what is the effect of all this, in the connection in which 
we are considering it — its bearing upon individual habits 1 Any 
one of our readers, of ordinary opportunity and capacity of 
observation can answer. The speculator who has hazarded his 
all, and more than all upon the chances of trade — not a legiti- 
mate and healthful, but capricious and reckless enterprize — 
cannot calmly watch his operation, or patiently wait its issue. 
The thing were morally impossible. He must mine and coun- 
termine. To-day he must fly this kite — to-morrow stop that 
gap — now embrace this expedient, and now rack his brain and 
strain his credit in that desperate shift. To pause in his anxious 
struggle were to ruin all at once, and anticipate the crash which 
in most cases must eventually come. Hope and Fear alternately 
possess him — and neither Hope nor Fear has " signed the pledge." 
He elevates the ecstacy of the one, and palliates the terror of 
the other, by the "grand catholicon" — the refuge in all ex- 
tremes, whether of pain or pleasure. And when, at the close 
of the business hours he finds that three o'clock strikes not yet 
the knell of his commercial credit, it is no wonder that he aids 
digestion, and calms his perturbed spirits in the intoxicating 
accompaniment to his dinner. The rest of the da^, and far into 
the night is his holiday. He seeks repose from the excitements 
of the Exchange in the excitement of convivial, or other amuse- 
ment; and makes much of the few hours' truce between 
"bulls" and "bears," and "buyers" and "holders." 

Such is an extreme case. But all men, except a very few, 
wise and careful, taught by experience, or saved by position, 
share to a greater or less degree, in the dangerous excitement 
of "good times," so designated. All are not desperate. All 






230 SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 

are not reckless. But the reckless and the desperate carry other 
men's fortunes with them. The "bold game 5 ' of the few in- 
fects many, and effects all. All crafts partake of the general 
prosperity — and all in the reverse. Each man in his sphere, 
to him the world, feels the inflation and suffers from the con- 
traction. In such a scene of universal excitement most men 
are tempted, and many submit to borrow fictitious strength in 
the struggle, mock joy in prosperity, and false consolation in 
adversity from the dangerous bowl. The mechanic and trades- 
man, the laborer, and other recipients of moderate wages or 
small profits, find their income increased in prosperity, and then 
indulge because " they can afford it." When adversity comes, 
and labor is difficult to obtain, or their receipts are diminished, 
or money actually earned is lost or withheld from them, the 
dangerous comforter is appealed to. Thus are the fluctuations 
of trade and commerce marked in our mercurial population 
by the tide of sensual enjoyment — only that where commerce 
has its flood and ebb, the strong waters have two floods — one 
in the hey-day and madness of success, the other in the des- 
pondence of reverses. 

Social life has its excitements also ; in a great degree depend- 
ent upon trade and politics ; but still, in some of its phases dis- 
tinct. There are fashionable follies and extravagances in dress, 
in traveling, and in the furor of fashionable amusements. All 
these sacrifice their victims. It is a glorious thing that in this 
country no determinate and fixed rules of caste or station pin 
men down to one sphere, or confine him forever to a set of ac- 
quaintances. But all advantages may be abused, and all good in 
human customs has some evil phaze. Some men are vulgar and 
narrow minded, let their sphere be what it may. Born a duke 
such a man would be the commonest of the common, and 
delight in horse-races, strong libations, pugilism, rat-catching, 



SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 231 

dog -fancying and stale bets. Born a republican he may be no 
worse, and certainly is no better. Others there are, who by neg- 
ligence or the misfortunes of their parents lose the advantages 
of education. Fortunate speculation — or perhaps unwearied, 
and to a certain extent praiseworthy industry, puts one of these 
unfortunates in the possession of money which he knows not 
how to spend — or of credit, which commands, while it lasts, 
all that money would buy. The natural tendency to " furor " 
will not suffer him to keep still. He makes large parties, egged 
to it by the impatience and vanity of wife and daughters. Hav- 
ing caught his guests what is he to do with them 1 Money will 
not purchase intellectual amusements — nor would it buy guests 
who could appreciate such, if it were offered. But money will 
procure all the various compounds under which the tempter 
lurks. If he can do nothing else with his guests, he can, as the 
Melesian expressed it, " eat them and drink them." And thus 
our social gatherings come in too many cases to possess that 
chief interest which pertains also to menageries of wild beasts — 
feeding the animals. Luxury is alwa3^s worse and more con- 
temptible in our republic than any where else. A vast field is 
opened by free institutions for the development and enlarge- 
ment of the mind ; but when men are content to use these 
advantages simply for pampering the body, and debasing the 
intellect, liberty speedily descends to licentiousness. The frugal 
beginner grows to the apparent millionaire, gorges himself, and 
explodes ; retiring to his pristine poverty, without the prudence 
which raised him from want, and without the virtue that made 
his poverty honorable. His short-lived wealth has served only 
to ruin himself, and to place temptation in the way of others. 

Another social evil of the first magnitude, is found in the 
fondness which exists for exciting and dangerous amusements. 
" Public opinion " has been called, and not inaptly, the tyrant 



232 SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 

of American society. But its most cruel tyranny is not so much 
in what it forbids, as in what it permits ; it is not so grievous an 
oppressor in its restrictive, as in its latituclinarian character. It 
shields multitudes in indulgences which are ruinous to body and 
soul. And, under the specious alias of " Fashion " it imboldens 
men in vice, and shames them out of their virtue ; ridicules 
temperance and chastity ; mocks at the judgment to come, and 
hurries multitudes unrebuked, into courses at which an unsophis- 
ticated mind, standing on its own judgment and perceptions of 
right and wrong, would shudder. We are aware that this is 
strong language. We are not unconversant with the poetic 
beauties of the drama. We have been moved to tears by 
finished rhetoric, and have acknowledged the sublime expres- 
sion of music — the more unreservedly perhaps that we are no 
critic. We have been familiar with such expressions and works 
of art as a residence in the principal cities of the Union could 
afford. With the newspaper editors, " open sesame ; " we have 
been made familiar with the public haunts of the American 
people ; and now in a calmer and more even sphere of life — 
without prejudice, but with knowledge, we can conscientiously 
cite the fashionable places of public amusements as constant 
ministers to temptation. Argument is unnecessary upon this 
subject to those who are not entranced by their seductive influ- 
ences. And unfortunately argument is wasted upon such as 
are supported by " public opinion " in setting the warnings of 
prudence at naught. Theatres, as at present conducted, have 
the most potent evil influence. It is not merely in the maud- 
lin sentiment which makes vice tolerable — the ribald jest which 
teaches the lad of sixteen to despise his inexperience in sin — 
the disgraceful levity upon sacred subjects — the sensual exhibi- 
tions which wear away the admiration of virtue. To these are 
to be added the excitement — the fearful excitement, which 



SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 233 

drives the novice to other factitious sources to keep up the plea- 
surable glow, or to restore jaded faculties. Nor is the habitue 
of the theatre exempt from danger — he to whom the scenes 
have become mere canvass — who has eaten oysters with Ham- 
let, smoked a cigar with King Lear, and bowled with the Moor 
Othello. The play fails to excite him, and, he must therefore 
drink himself up to the enjoyment of it. These are sad facts, 
but undeniable. And when "fashion" sends whole commu- 
nities to the play-house, as is sometimes, though now more 
seldom than formerly the case, whole communities pay the 
penalty. 

Another fashionable evil is found in the " rush " to watering 
places and other summer resorts. For valetudinarians — for those 
also who desire retreat from city confinement, it is both proper 
and praiseworthy to seek the country. All who can afford it — 
and more can than do — should re-invigorate body and mind by 
a sight of the green fields, or of the wide ocean, and a breath 
of the fresh air. Bat here again the national furor has begun 
the mischief, and the national tyrant has perfected it. " Public 
opinion" sanctions acts and courses at watering places, which, 
pursued in the city, would ruin a merchant's name at the Bank, 
and spoil a tradesman's character with his customers ; and a 
lawyer's with his clients. This same " public opinion " is a 
very facile and chamelion-like despot. He adopts as his stand- 
ard the rule of the place. He was the author of the very 
accommodating maxim — " When at Rome, do as Romans do." 
He will authorize cards and wine in one place, and condemn 
them at another — and when required will set down cards in his 
vocabulary as meaning gaming of the most desperate character, 
and wine as including all products of the worm of the still, at 
all hours and in any quantities. We do not say that in all 
watering places he has carried things to this length ; but we 






234 SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 

do say that " public opinion," othewise called " fashion," has 
taught many frequenters of summer resorts, to wear their mo- 
rality and even their religion as the loosest of loose garments. 
The battery dress, worn as a promenade costume in Broadway 
or Chestnut Street, would not astonish more, than the moral 
habits of the watering place would astonish the city. To be 
sure there are individual exceptions to this remark ; but can any 
person truly say that at the watering place of fashionable resort, 
he has not found it easier to excuse omissions of duty, and to 
palliate infractions of temperance, than at home ? 

Enough of this branch of our subject. More will suggest 
itself to the reader than we care to write, or our publishers 
would have space to print. The third great cause of undue 
natural excitement is found in the subject of politics. Time 
was that this word politics had a meaning, and designated a sci- 
ence which it was worthy of the minds of men to study. Now 
it principally implies the inquiry whether a village post-master 
belongs to one party or another ; whether city streets are swept 
by whig brooms or democratic, and city lamps are lighted by 
democratic tapers or whig torches. Follow the question up to 
the highest national bureaux, and with far the greater number, 
the popular question is the same thing, and the science at Wash- 
ington is still a science of brooms. Among the most industrious 
politicians are those who have something to gain or something 
to lose. These go into the contest with the spirit of covetous- 
ness which urges the commercial speculator, or with the same 
kind of vanity which inspires the emulator of social position. 
And they feel the same love of excitement which harries the 
devotee of public amusement. To the great body of the people 
they contrive to impart something of the same spirit — to some 
from interest — some from love of excitement — others from de- 
sire of amusement — and to all from the contagious character of 



SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 235 

a moral epedemic. A great and zealously contested political 
struggle is always a great hinderance to the cause of temper- 
ance. And when we hear that an election in any town, State, 
or number of States has "gone off without interest" we are 
sure that it has passed with less than usual detriment. When 
the newspapers condole with each other that "freemen have 
been culpably remiss " we congratulate ourselves upon the fact 
that they have avoided another and more dangerous excitement 
than that of the hustings proper. 

Such are some of the causes of our national intemperance — 
be that intemperance more or less — and now where is the 
remedy 1 Clearly there is not a full and sufficient remedy in 
any thing which has been done hitherto. Temperance Socie- 
ties of all varieties of organization, from simple subscription of 
pledges, to the initiation into presumed occult associations have 
not provided it. When the tide of temptation sweeps a com- 
munity, pledged men and initiated men, temperance auditors 
and temperance lecturers even, fall or throw themselves into it, 
and some are swept away past recovery. It is to be feared 
moreover that the association of men to watch each other, some- 
times begets a consciousness which provokes to rebellion and 
maddens to descent. There is an excellent physical charity in 
many of these associations — excelleut as far as it goes ; but we 
are inclined to fear, from some circumstances which have fallen 
under our observation, that there is a lack of Christian 
Charity. 

Where, we repeat, is the remedy? "And what," asks an 
ardent believer in human perfectibility, " what would you sub- 
stitute for the present temperance organizations, when you have 
swept them away 1 " My dear sir, we would not sweep them 
away. As soon would we abrogate and abolish ploughing and 
harrowing and sowing, because, after all, unless the ground 



236 SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 

receive the sun and rain from above, it will produce nothing. 
Neither would we substitute any thing for the present temper- 
ance organizations. But we would define their proper place — 
as secondary and not supreme — as dependent upon the law of 
the Gospel of Christ and second to Christian union and fellow- 
ship. We would place dependence upon God's mercy to peni- 
tents, above the potency of any mere human resolutions to 
reform, and to remain reformed. 

Pledges not to make, buy, sell, or use as a beverage intoxi- 
cating drinks, will not abate the evils of commercial speculation, 
or cure men of coveteousness, which is adolatry. But there are 
many commands and maxims in the Sacred Book, which go to 
the root of the evil. " Set your affection on things above, and 
not on things on the earth." Temperance membership does 
not forbid dangerous amusements and participation in human 
follies. But God commands " Thou shalt not follow a multi- 
tude to do evil" — and thus the tyrant, "Public opinion," is 
effectually denied his sovereignty. There are even more com- 
prehensive precepts than the above : "Be not conformed to this 
world." — Nor, again, does Temperance as it is too often advo- 
cated forbid ambition — but God's Word is eloquent in its warn- 
ings against the desire to be seen and honored of men. 

Such maxims do we find in the fountain and foundation of all 
law, order, and government ; the Book in which we may learn 
that virtue which is the source of true and " great gain " in this 
world, and the assurance of happiness in another. Its teachings 
go to lay the basis of improvement. Its doctrines are not those 
of men. It concedes nothing to human pride — nothing to vain 
skepticism — nothing to mere expediency. And we are fully 
persuaded that this great people will become a nation of tem- 
perate men only when it has become a nation of Christian 
men. Christ's Church is the great and only efficient Tern- 



SOME THOUGHTS ON INTEMPERANCE. 237 

perance Association — Temperance in all things — for his apos- 
tles reasoned of "righteousness, temperance and judgement to 
come." Without depreciating auxiliary and secondary means, 
let all true patriots look first to the inculcation of christian 
knowledge, as the remedy for debasing ignorance ; to christian 
charity, as the guide in our judgement of our fellows ; and to 
christian humility, as the grace which shall enable " him that 
standeth to take heed lest he fall." 



ROSEMARY HILL. 

BY MISS ALICE CAREY. 

' Twas the time he had promised to meet me, 

To meet me on Rosemary Hill, 
And I said, at the rise of the eve-star, 

The trust he will haste to fulfill. 

Then I looked to the elm-bordered valley 
Where the moon-lighted mist softly lay, 

But I saw not the steps of my lover 
Dividing its glory away. 

The eve-star grew broader and paler, 
The night-dew fell heavy and chill, 

And wings ceased to beat thro' the shadows, 
The shadows of Rosemary Hill. 

I heard not, thro' hoping and fearing, 
The whip-poor-will's magical cry, 

Nor saw I the pale constellations 

That swept the blue reach of the sky. 



ROSEMARY HILL. 239 

But fronting despair like a martyr, 

I pled with my heart to be still, 
As round me fell darker and deeper, 

The shadows of Rosemary Hill. 

On a bough where the red leaves were clinging 

I leaned as the mid-night grew dumb, 
And told my heart over and over 

How often he said he would come. 

Hunting in the dim forest of Arnau, 

He has been with his dogs all day long, 

And is weary with winging the plover, 
Or stayed by the throstles sweet song. 

Then I heard the low whining of Aldrich, 

Of Aldrich so blind and so old, 
With sleek hide embrowned like the lion's 

And brinded and freckled with gold. 

How the pulse of despair in my bosom 

Leapt back to a joyous thrill 
As I went down to meet my lost lover, 

Down softly from Rosemary Hill. 

Nearer seemed the low whining of Aldrich, 

More loudly my glad bosom beat, 
Till I presently saw by the moonlight 

A newly-made grave at my feet. 



240 



ROSEMARY HILL. 



Where, silently, sorrowfully drifting 
Away from love's sheltering ark, 

I tore from my forehead the lilies, 
And trusted my hopes to the dark. 

Then took I the passion-vine softly, 
Which grew by the stone at the head, 

And when the grave's length I had measured 
I knew that my lover was dead. 

Seven summers the sunshine has fallen 
Since that dreary night-time of ill, 

But my heart still is veiled with a shadow, 
The shadow of Rosemary Hill. 



Friend, who art my simple lay reading, 
Wouldst know what my life thus o'ercast'? 

'Twas the mocker that bites like a serpent, 
And stings like an adder at last. 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 

BY MRS. L. H SIGOURNEY. 

" Care, and peril, instead of joy, — 
Guilt and dread shall be thine, rash boy. 
Lo ! thy mantling chalice of life 
Foameth with sorrow, and madness, and strife. 

It is well. I discern a tear on thy cheek, — 
It is well. Thou art humble, and silent, and meek. 
Now, courage again ! and with peril to cope, 
Gird thee with vigor, and helm thee with hope. 

Martin Farquhar Tuppkr. 

A group of villagers surrounded an open grave. A woman, 
holding two young children by the hand, was bowed down with 
grief. There seemed to be no other immediate mourners. But 
many an eye turned on them with sympathy, and more than 
one glistened with tears. 

In a small, rural community, every death is felt as a solemn 
thing, and in some measure, a general loss. The circumstances 
that attended it, are enquired into, and remembered ; while in 
cities, the frequent hearse scarce gains a glance, or a thought, 
from the passing throng. 

On this oacasion it was distinctly known, that Mr. Jones, the 

16 



242 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 






carpenter of the village, who was that day buried, had led a re- 
proachless life, and that his death, by sudden disease, in the 
prime of his days, would be an unspeakable loss to his wife, and 
little ones. Pitying kindness stirred in the hearts of those honest 
people, and whatever service their limited means allowed, was 
promptly rendered. It was the earnest desire of the widow, to 
keep, if possible, the cottage where they had resided since their 
marriage ; and which was the more dear, from having been built 
by the hands of her husband. They respected her diligence 
and prudence, and at their seasons of fruit-gathering and har- 
vest she was not forgotten. But as her health, which had been 
worn down by watching and sorrow, returned, her energies also 
were quickened to labor, that she might bring up her children 
without the aid of charity : and her efforts were prospered. 

In the course of a few years, it was thought advisable for her 
daughter, who was ingenious with the needle, to go to a neigh- 
boring town and obtain instruction in the trade of a dressmaker. 
Richard, who was two years younger, remained with his moth- 
er, attending in winter the village-school, and at other periods 
of the year, finding occasional employment among the farmers 
in the vicinity. It was seen by all, how much the widow's 
heart was bound up in him, and how she was always devising 
means for his improvement and happiness. 

But as Richard grew older, he liked the society of idle boys, 
and it was feared did not fully appreciate, or repay her affection. 
He was known to be addicted to his own way, and had been heard 
to express contempt for the authority of women. There were 
rumors of his having frequented places where liquors were sold ; 
yet none imagined the disobedience and disrespect which that 
lonely cottage sometimes witnessed, for the mother complained 
only to her God, in the low sigh of prayer. She was not able 
to break his intimacy with evil associates, and, ere he reached 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 243 

his eighteenth year, had too much reason to believe him a par- 
taker in their vices. 

It was supposed that she was unacquainted with his conduct, 
because she spoke not of it to others, and continued to treat him 
with tenderness. But deep love, though sometimes willing to 
appear blind, is quick-sighted to the faults of its object. It may- 
keep silence, but the glance of discovery, and the thrill of tor- 
ture, are alike electric. 

The widowed mother had hoped much from the return of her 
daughter, and the aid of her young, cheerful spirit, in rendering 
their home attractive. Her arrival, in full possession of her 
trade, with the approbation of her employers, gave to her lone 
heart a joy long untasted. Margaret was an active and loving 
girl, graceful in her person, and faithful to every duty. Her 
industry provided new comforts for the cottage, while her inno- 
cent gayety enlivened it. 

The widowed mother earnestly besought her assistance, in sav- 
ing their endangered one from the perils that surrounded him ; 
and her sisterly love poured itself out upon his heart, in a full, 
warm flood. It would seem that he caught the enthusiasm of 
her example ; for he returned with more of diligence to his 
former labors, while his intervals of leisure were spent at home. 
When his mother saw him seated by their pleasant little hearth, 
sometimes reading to Margaret, w\ile she plied the needle, or 
occasionally winding her silks, and arranging the spools in her 
work-table, their young voices mingling in song, or laughter, 
she felt how powerful was the influence of a good sister, and 
lifted up her soul in praise to the Rock of their salvation. Some- 
what more of filial respect and observance she might have de- 
sired, but was content that her own claims should be overlooked, 
might he only be rescued. Months fled, and her pallid cheek 
had already resumed the tinge of a long-forgotten happiness. 






244 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



One day, when spring made the earth beautiful, on entering 
suddenly Margaret's little chamber, she surprised her in a pas- 
sion of tears. 

" My daughter ! My dear child ! " 

" Oh, mother ! I wish you had not come, just now." 

" Tell me, are you sick? " 

" No, not sick. Only my heart is broken." 

" Can you not trust me with your trouble ? " 

Long and bursting sobs followed, with stifled attempts at ut- 
terance. 

" Mother, we have been so happy, I cannot bear to destroy it 
all. Richard, — my poor brother." 

" Speak ! what has he done ? " 

Hiding her face in her mother's bosom, she said in broken 
tones, — 

" You ought to know, — I must tell you. It cannot longer be 
concealed that he often comes home late, and disguised with 
liquor. I tried to shut out the truth from myself. Then I tried 
to hide it from others. But it is all in vain." 

" Alas ! I thought he was changed, that your blessed hand 
had saved him. Tell me what you have discovered." 

" I would fain spare you. But I have seen enough, for weeks 
past, to destroy my peace. Last night, you had retired before 
he came. He entered with a reeling step, and coarse, hateful 
words. I strove to get him silently to his bed, lest he might 
disturb you. But he withstood me. His fair blue eyes were 
like balls of fire ; and he cursed me, till I fled from him." 

The mother clasped her closer to her heart, and bathed her 
brow with tears. 

" Look to Him, my child, who ordereth all our trials. Night 
after night, have I spent in sleepless prayer for the poor, sinful 
boy." 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 245 

"Ah! then you have known it long. Mother, you have 
been too indulgent. You should warn and reprove him, and 
give him no rest, until he repent and forsake his sin." 

" All that was in my power to do, has been faithfully done. 
I have not spared him. But he revolted. He despised my 
woman's voice, my motherly love. I forbore to distress your 
young heart with all that I might have revealed. I feared to 
damp the courage on which my hopes were built. I told you 
freely of his danger from evil associates, but relied on the power 
of your love too much, too fondly. Yet you have been an 
angel to him, and to me." 

" Mother, I will myself rebuke him. I will speak for you, 
and for God." 

" Margaret, may He give you wisdom. Should your brother's 
mind not be in a right state, your words will be hurled back 
upon your own head. Sometimes, I have poured out my whole 
soul in reproof. Then, again, I have refrained, to save him 
from the sin of cursing his mother. Yet speak to him, Marga- 
ret, if you will. May God give power to your words. Still, I 
cannot but fear lest you take a wrong time, when his feelings 
are inflamed with intemperance." 

" Be at peace, in this, dearest mother. I will not broach 
such a subject but at a fitting time." 

The mother had little hope from the intended appeal of her 
daughter. Indeed, she shrank from it, for she best knew the 
temper of her son. Yet she humbled herself to go to the 
vender of liquor, and beseech him to withhold it from him, in 
the name of the widow's God. Margaret drooped in secret, 
but spoke cheering words to her brother, with an unclouded 
brow. One day, he had aided her in some slight operation, in 
the garden, with unwonted kindness. She fancied that she saw 



246 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



in his eye, the reviving spirit of better days. Throwing her 
arm around his neck, she said, — 

" Brother Richard, you can be so good. How I wish it were 
always thus." 

" Always to be working under your orders, I suppose. No 
doubt, that would be quite pleasing. All you women like to 
rule, when you can." 

" Not to rule, but to see those we love rule themselves." 

" Is that what you tell Will Palmer, when he sits here so 
long, watching you like a cat, and looking as wise as an owl ? 
If you should chance to marry him, you'd tell him another tale, 
and try always to rule him yourself. Now, Miss Mag Jones, 
tell the whole truth : why is that same deacon that is to be, 
here forever 1 " 

" I will not hide any thing from you, dear Richard, who have 
known my thoughts from my cradle. We shall probably be 
married in the autumn, and then " — 

" And then, what % " 

" Oh, brother ! then, I hope you will do all in your power to 
comfort mother, when I shall not be here." 

" Not be here ! Do you expect to move to Oregon, or sit 
on the top of the Andes, with this remarkable sweetheart of 
yours ? " 

"We shall not leave this village. But when I have a new 
home and other duties, I hope you will be daughter and son 
both, to our poor mother. Remember how hard she has worked 
to bring us up, how she has watched us in sickness, and prayed 
for us, at all times. Her only earthly hope is in us ; especially 
in you, her son." 

" Margaret, what are you driving at? " 

" Oh, Richard ! forsake those evil associates, who are leading 
you to ruin. Break off the habit of drinking, that debases, and 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 247 

destroys you. For the sake of our widowed mother, for the 
sake of our father's unblemished memory, for the sake of the 
sister, who loves you as her own soul " — 

(C For the sake of what else ? Bill Palmer, I presume. Is 
there never to be an end to these women's tongues ? So it has 
been these three years ; preach, preach, till I have prayed for 
deafness. I have had no rest, for Mrs. Jones's eternal sermons ; 
and now you must needs come to help her, with your everlast- 
ing gab." 

The young girl heeded not that his eyes flashed, and that the 
veins of his neck were swollen and sanguine. Throwing off 
the timidity of her nature, she spoke slowly, and with solemn 
emphasis, as one inspired. 

" If you have no pity on the mother who bore you, no tender 
memory of the father who laid his hands on your head, when 
they were cold in death ; no regard for an honest, honorable 
reputation ; at least, have some pity on your own undying soul, 
some fear of the bar of judgment, of the worm that never dies, 
and seek mercy while there is hope, and repent, that you may 
be forgiven." 

" I tell you what, I'll not bear this from you. I know some- 
thing to make fine words out of, too. Your mother has been 
slandering me, prohibiting the traffic in liquor, I understand ; 
for aught I know, you were her spokesman. Wise women ! as 
if there was but one place on this round world, where it is sold. 
Hypocrites you are, both of you ! making boast of your love, 
and publishing evil against me. Look out, how you drive a 
man to desperation. If you see my face no more, thank your- 
selves ! " 

And with a hoarse imprecation, he threw himself over the 
garden fence, and disappeared. That night there was agoni- 
zing grief in the pleasant cottage, tears, and listening for the feet 



248 THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 

that came not. Then, were days of vain search, and harrow- 
ing anxiety, closed by sleepless watchings. Alas ! for the poor 
mother's heart ! What had the boy been left to do 1 what ! 
Had not his sister been too severe 1 Would that her reproaches 
had been less sharp to his sore heart, or that she had taken a 
better time, when he might have been more patient. Thus 
travailed the yearning heart of the mother, with the old, blind 
Eden-policy, vain excuse. 

Again another tide of struggling emotion. Would he but 
come, even as he had so often done, with unequal steps, and 
muttered threatenings. Would he only come, that the love 
which had nursed his innocent infancy, might once more look 
upon his face. Then swept terrible thoughts over the mother's 
soul, images of reckless crime, and ghastly suicide. But she 
gave them not utterance to the daughter who sate beside her, 
working and weeping. For she said, the burden of the child 
is already greater than she can bear. 

Yet he, who was the cause of all this agony, hastened night 
and day from .the quiet spot of his birth, towards the sea-coast, 
boiling with passion. He conceived himself to have been 
utterly disgraced by the prohibition of his mother to the seller 
of liquors, not feeling that the disgrace was in the sin that had 
made such prohibition necessary. He wildly counted those who 
most loved him, as conspirators against his peace ; for vice, to 
its other distortions of soul, adds the insanity of mistaking the 
best friends for enemies. 

Full of vengeful purpose, and knowing that his mother had 
long dreaded lest he should choose the life of a sailor, he hurried 
to a seaport, and shipped on a whaling voyage. As the vessel 
was to sail immediately, to be absent more than three years, 
and he entered under a feigned name, it gave him pleasure that 
he should thus baffle pursuit or discovery. 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 249 

" Let them trace me, if they can," said he ; " and when I get 
back, I'll sail again, without seeing them. They may preach 
now as long as they please, but I'll be out of their hearing." 

Thus, in the madness of a sinful heart, he threw himself 
upon the great deep, without a thought of kindness towards 
man, or a prayer to God. Yet he was ill-prepared for the lot 
of hardship he had chosen, — the coarse fare, the iron sway, the 
long night-watch, and the slippery shroud in the tempest. To 
drown misery in the daily allowance of liquor, was his princi- 
pal resource, when at first the sea-sickness seized him, and 
afterwards, when his sea-sins sank him still lower in brutality. 
Vile language, bad songs, and frequent broils were the enter- 
tainments of the forecastle ; while the toilsome duties of a raw 
sailor before the mast, were imbittered by the caprices of the 
captain, himself a votary of intemperance. A stronger shadow- 
ing forth of the intercourse of condemned spirits could scarcely 
be given, than the fierce crew of that rude vessel exhibited, shut 
out, for years, from all humanizing and holy influences. Yet 
strange to say, the recreant, who had abused the indulgences of 
home and the supplications of love, derived some benefit where 
it could least have been anticipated. Indolence was exchanged 
for regular employment, and he learned the new and hard les- 
son of submission to authority ; and whenever a lawless spirit is 
enforced to industry, and the subjugation of its will, it must be 
in some degree a gainer. So, with the inconsistency of our 
fallen nature, the soul that had spurned the sunbeam, and hard- 
ened under the shower, was arrested by the thunderbolt, and 
taught by the lightning. 

In the strong excitement and peril of conflict with the huge 
monarch of the deep, he gained some elevation, by a temporary 
forgetfulness of self ; for that one image, long magnified and 
dilated, had closed the mind to all ennobling prospects, and 



250 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



generous resolves. The dead-lights of the soul had been so 
long shut in, that the first ray that streamed through them 
seemed new and wonderful. 

Accident and ill-fortune protracted their voyage, several 
months beyond its intended limits. While pursuing a home- 
ward course, some seasons of serious reflection, when not under 
the sway of intemperance, came over Richard Jones. For he 
was not utterly hardened ; and prayers continually rose up from 
his forsaken home, that, if yet in the land of the living, he 
might repent, and find hope. Conscience, at times, wrought 
powerfully, so that he dreaded to be alone, or turned as a refuge 
to the vile revelry of comrades whom he despised. 

Once, as he paced the deck in his midnight watch, while the 
vessel went rushing onward through the deep, dark sea, solemn 
thoughts settled heavily around him. Here, and there, a star 
looked down upon him, with watchful, reproving eye. He 
felt alone, in the presence of some mighty, mysterious Being. 
Early memories returned; the lessons of the Sabbath-school, 
the plaintive toll of the church-bell, the voice of his mother, as 
seated on her knee, she taught him of the dear Saviour, who 
took the children to his breast, and blessed them. 

A few drops of rain, from a passing cloud, fell upon his head. 
In the excitement of the reverie, he gasped, — 

"These are her tears ! Yes ! Just so they felt on my fore- 
head, when she used to beseech me to forsake the foolish, and 
live, and go in the way of understanding." 

He leaned over the vessel's side. The rain-drops ceased, and 
the phosphorescence of the waters was like a great lake of fire. 
The billows rose, tossing their white crests for a moment, and 
then sank into the burning flood. He watched them till his 
brain grew giddy. Presently, a single faint moonbeam shot 
through the cleft of a cloud. As it glimmered over the surge, 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 251 

he thought a face loomed up, and gazed on him, — a fair young 
face, paler than marble. A hand seemed to stretch itself out, 
arms to bend in an embracing clasp, a floating death-shroud 
gleamed, — and all was lost forever. 

"Oh, Margaret! oh, my sister!" he shrieked, "just so she 
looked when she adjured me, in the name of God, to have pity 
on my poor mother, and on my own soul." 

As if he had witnessed her funeral obsequies, he wept in 
remorseful grief. His watch closed. In horror of spirit, he 
retired, but not to sleep. Even the hardened men who sur- 
rounded him forbore to jeer, when they heard him moan in 
anguish, " Oh, Margaret ! oh, my sister ! " 

These strong and painful impressions scarcely wore away 
during the brief remainder of the voyage. When he saw in 
dim outline, the hills of his country gleaming amid the clouds, 
a new joy took possession of his soul. And when his feet 
rested again on the solid earth, and he received his wages, his 
first thought was to hasten and share them with those whom he 
had so recklessly forsaken. 

" Will you come to my house, sir ? " said a man, upon the 
wharf, near him. " Good accommodations, sir, for sailor gen- 
tlemen. Everything, first cut and first cost." 

" Where is your house ? " 

" Near by. Here, boy ; take this fine young man's chest 
along. I'll show you the way, sir. The favorite boarding- 
house for all jolly, noble-spirited tars." 

It was evident that he was now in the power of a land-shark. 
Alas ! for all his hopes : the struggles of conscience, the rekind- 
ling of right affections. Temptation, and the force of habit, 
were too strong for him. Almost continually intoxicated, his 
hard earnings vanished, he knew not how, or where. It was 
not long ere his rapacious landlord pronounced him in debt, and 



252 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON 



produced claims which he was unable to meet. His chest with 
all its contents was seized, and he, miserably clad, and half 
bewildered, was turned into the streets, by his sordid betrayer. 

As the fumes of prolonged-inebriety subsided, horrible images 
surrounded him. Smothered resolutions, and pampered vices, 
sprang from the seething caldron of his brain, frowning and 
gibbering like ghostly tormentors. Monstrous creatures grinned 
and beckoned, and when he would have fled, cold slimy ser- 
pents seemed to coil around and fetter his trembling limbs. 

Still, with returning reason came a deeper misery. He de- 
sired to die, but death fled from him. Covering his face with 
his hands, as he sate on the ground, in the damp, chill air of 
evening, he meditated different forms of suicide. He would 
fain have plunged into the sea, but his tottering limbs failed 
him. Searching for his knife, the only movable that remained 
to him, he examined its blunted edge, and loosened blade, as if 
doubting their efficiency. Thus* engaged, by the dim light of 
a street-lamp, groans, as if the pangs of death had seized him, 
burst from his heaving breast. Half believing himself already 
a dweller with condemned spirits, he started at the sound of a 
human voice. 

"Thee art in trouble, I think." 

The eyes once so clear in days of innocence, opening wide 
and wild, glared with amazement on the calm, compassionate 
brow of a middle-aged man, in the garb of a Quaker. The 
knife fell from his quivering hand, and sounded on the pave- 
ment. But there was no answer. 

" Thee art in great trouble, friend ! " 

" Friend ! Friend ! Who calls me friend ? I have no 
friends, but the tormentors to whom I am going." 

"Hast thou a wife? or children 1 " 

" No, no ; God be thanked. No wife, nor children. I tell 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 253 

you there are no friends left, but the fiends who have come for 
me. No home, but their eternal fires. Shoals of them were 
here just now, — ready ! aye, ready ! " and he laughed a de- 
moniac laugh. 

" Poor, poor youth ! I see thee art a sailor." 

" I was once. What I am now, I know not. I wish to be 
nothing. Leave me to myself, and those that are howling 
around me. Here ! here ! I come : " and he groped aimlessly 
for his lost knife. 

The heart of the philanthropist yearned as over an erring 
brother. The spirit of the Master who came to seek and to 
save the lost, moved within him. 

" Alas ! poor victim. How many have fallen, like thee, 
before the strong man armed. Sick art thou, at the very soul. 
I will give thee shelter for the night. Come with me, to my 
home." 

"Home! Home V shouted the inebriate, as if he under 
stood him not. And while the benevolent man, taking his arm, 
staid his uncertain footsteps, he still repeated, but in tones more 
humanized and tender, — " Home ! your home ? What ! me a 
sinner ?" until a burst of unwonted tears relieved the fires 
within. 

And as that blessed man led him to his own house, and laid 
him upon a good bed, speaking words of comfort ; heard he not 
from above that deep, thrilling melody, " I was sick, and ye 
visited me, in prison, and ye came unto me. Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of these, ye have done it unto me ? " 

With reviving day the sinful man revived ; humbled in heart, 
and sad. Subdued by suffering, and softened by a kindness, 
which he felt to be wholly undeserved, he poured out a fervent 
prayer for divine aid in the great work of reformation. He was 
glad to avail himself, without delay, of the proposal of his bene- 



254 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



factor, to enter on service in a temperance ship ready to sail 
immediately for the East Indies. 

" I am acquainted with the captain," said the good man, 
"and can induce him to take thee. I am also interested in the 
vessel, and in the results of her voyage. A relative of mine, 
goes out as supercargo. Both of them will be thy friends, if 
thou art true to thyself. But intemperance bringeth sickness to 
the soul, as well as to the body. Wherefore, pray for healing, 
and strive for penitence, and angels who rejoice over the return- 
ing sinner, will give thee aid." 

Self-abasement, and gratitude to his preserver, swelled like an 
overwhelming flood, and choked his utterance. 

" All men have sinned, my son, though not all in the same 
way. But there is mercy for every one that sorroweth, and 
forsaketh the evil. God hath given me the great happiness to 
help some who have fallen as low as thee. Thank Him, there- 
fore, and not the poor arm of flesh. May He give thee strength 
to stand firm on the Rock of salvation." 

Broken words, mingled with tears, struggled vainly to express 
the emotions of the departing sailor. His benefactor once more 
shaking him heartily by the hand, bade him farewell. 

" Peace be with thee, on the great waters. And remember 
to strive and pray." 

A new world seemed to open upon the rescued one. Of the 
quietness and order that pervaded a temperance ship, he had no 
anticipation. There were neither quarrels nor profanity, so 
common among the crew, nor arrogance, and capricious punish- 
ment, on the part of those in power. Cheerful obedience, and 
just authority prevailed, as in a well-regulated family. He was 
both surprised and delighted to find his welfare an object of 
interest with the officers of the ship, to receive kind counsel 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 255 

from them, and to be permitted to employ his brief intervals of 
leisure with the well-chosen volumes of a seaman's library. 

Still it was not with him, as if he had never sinned. Not all 
at once could he respire freely in a pure atmosphere. Physical 
exhaustion, from the withdrawal of stimulants to which he had 
been long accustomed, sometimes caused such deep despondence, 
that life itself seemed a burden. 

Cherished vice brings also a degree of moral obliquity. Every 
permitted sin lifts a barrier between the clear shining of God's 
countenance, and the cold and frail human heart. Perverted 
trains of thought, and polluted remembrances still lingered with 
with him, and feelings long debased, did not readily acquire an 
upward tendency. Yet the parting admonition of his benefactor 
to strive and pray, ever sounded in his ears, and became the 
motto of his soul. By little and little, through faithful obedi- 
ence, he obtained the victory. His improvement was noticed 
by others, before he dared to congratulate himself; for humility 
had strangely become a part of his character, who once defied 
all laws, human and divine. His countenance began to resume 
the ingenuous expression of early years, and the eyes, so long 
fiery, or downcast, looked up with the clearness of hope. 

" Blessings on the temperance ship ! " he often ejaculated, as 
he paced the deck in his nightly watch, " and eternal blessings 
on the holy man, who snatched me from the lowest hell." 

At his arrival in a foreign port, he was watchful to avoid 
every temptation. His friend, the supercargo, took him under 
his especial charge, and finding him much better educated than 
is usual with sailors, gave him employment of a higher nature, 
which was both steady and lucrative. His expenses were regu- 
lated with extreme economy, that he might lay up more liber- 
ally for those dear ones at home, whose images became more 



256 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



and more vivid, as his heart threw off the debasing dominion 
of intemperance, and its host of evils. 

The returning voyage was one of unmingled satisfaction. 
Compunction had given place to a healthful virtue, whose root 
was not in himself. 

" Why is this ? " he often soliloquized : " why should I be 
saved, while so many perish 1 How have I deserved such 
mercy, who willingly made a beast of myself, through the fiery 
draught of intemperance ? Oh, my mother ! I know that thy 
prayers have followed me, — they have saved me." 

With what a surpassing beauty did the hills of his native land 
gleam upon his eye, unfolding before him, like angel's wings. 
He felt also, that an angel's mission was his to the hearts that 
loved him, and which he in madness had wounded. Immedi- 
ately on reaching the shore, he began his journey to them. 
Stopping his ears to the sounds of the city, where he had once 
sunk so low, he hurried by its haunts of temptation, less from 
fear, than from sickening disgust. 

Autumn had ripened its fruits, without sacrificing the verdure 
of summer. It was the same season that, seven years before, 
he had traversed this region. But with what contrasted pros- 
pects, and purposes ! How truly has it been said, that no two 
individuals can differ more from each other, than the same indi- 
vidual may, at different periods of life, differ from himself. 

Richard Jones scarcely paused on his way for sleep, or for 
refreshment. He sought communion with none. The food of 
his own thoughts sufficed. As he drew near the spot of his 
birth, impatience increased almost beyond endurance. The 
rapid wheels seemed to make no progress, and the distance to 
lengthen interminably. Quitting the public vehicle, which did 
not pass that secluded part of the village where his parental 
cottage was situated, he sought it in solitude. It was pleasant 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 257 

to him to come thus unknown, and he meditated the rapturous 
surprise he was about to create. 

Those rocks ! that river ! can they be the same 1 The roof ! 
the very roof ! and the maple that shaded it. — But the garden- 
fence, the gate, are broken and gone. Where is the honey- 
suckle that Margaret trained. He was about to lift the latch, — 
to burst in, as in days of old. But other thoughts came over 
him, and he knocked gently, as a stranger ; again, more earnestly. 

"Who is there 1" 

It was a broad, gruff accent. He opened the door ; a large, 
coarse woman stood there, with sleeves rolled above her red 
elbows, toiling at the wash-tub. 

" Does the Widow Jones live here ? " 

The Widow who ? why, Lord, no. I live here myself, to be 
sure." 

The quivering lips, and parched tongue, scarcely articulated, — 

" Where is Margaret Jones 1 " 

" How should I know 1 I never hearn o' such a one, not I. 
Tho' I've been here, and hereabouts, this two year, I reckon." 

A horror of great darkness fell upon the weary traveler. He 
turned from the door. Whither should he go ? There was no 
neighboring house, and had there been, he»would fain have hid- 
den his misery from all who had ever known him. Instinctively 
he entered the burial-ground, which was near by. There was 
his father's grave with its modest stone, where he had been so 
often led in childhood. By its side was another, not fresh, yet 
the sods were imperfectly consolidated, and had not gathered 
greenness. He threw himself upon it, — he grasped a few dry 
weeds that grew there, and waved in the rising blast. 

" This is to be alone in the world ! Oh God ! I have deserved 
it ; I was her murderer ! but I dreamed not of such misery ! " 

Long he lay there, in his tempestuous grief, without being 

17 



258 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



sensible of a faint hollow sound, heard at regular intervals. It 
was the spade of the sexton, casting up earth and stones from 
the depth of a grave, in which he labored. Even his deaf ear 
caught the voice of anguish, as he finished his work. Coming 
forward, he stood in wonder, as if to illustrate the description of 
the poet : 

" Near to a grave that was newly made, 
Lean'd the sexton thin, on his earth-worn spade, — 
A relic of by-gone days, was he, 
And his locks were as white as the foam of the sea." 

Starting at that withered effigy, which in the dim haze of 
twilight seemed more like a ghost than a man, he exclaimed, — 

" Did you ever hear of a middle-aged woman, called the 
Widow Jones 1 " 

" Hear of her! I know'd her well, and her husband too. 
An honest, hard-working man he was; and when he died, was 
well spoke of, through all this village." 

" And his wife % " 

" Why everybody pitied her, inasmuch as her husband died 
so sudden, and left leetle, or no means behind, for her and the 
children." 

" There were children, then q . " 

" Yes, two on 'em. She worked hard enough, to bring 'em 
up, I guess. I remember the funeral, as if it 'twas only yester- 
day. I stood just about where you do now ; and I used this 
spade, the very first time it ever was used, to dig that same grave." 

With a convulsive effort, as when one plucks a dagger from 
his breast, he asked faintly, — 

" When did she die ? " 

" Die ? mercy on you ! Why, I don't s'pose she's dead at 
all. Sure, I should have been called on to dig the grave, if she 
had died : that's sartain. I've had all the business of that sort, 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 259 

in these parts, as you may say, for this forty year, and better. 
There did once come a person from the North country, and try 
to undersell me. But he didn't do his work thorough. His 
graves caved in. He couldn't get a living, and so he went off. 
I'll show ye one of the graves of his digging, if you'll just 
come along." 

" Tell me, for God's sake ! if the Widow Jones still lives 1 " 

" Why, man ! what's the matter on ye 1 you're as white as 
the tomb-stones. I tell ye, she's alive, for aught I know to the 
contrary. She moved away from here, a considerable time ago. 
It an't so well with her, as 'twas in days past. 

Grasping the sexton strongly by the arm, he demanded, — 

" Where is she to be found 1 " 

" Oh Lord ! help ! help ! the man will murder me, I verily 
believe. Did ye ever hear of what was called the stone-house 1 
just at the hither eend of the next village, after you cross a 
bridge, and go up a hill, and turn to the right, and see a small 
cluster of buildings, and a mill, and a meetin'-house % Well, 
she lives there in a kind of suller-room, for I was a telling you, 
I expect, she an't none too well off. — Goodness ! the creature is 
gone as if he wanted to ride a streak o' lightning, and whip up. 
He is demented, without a doubt. What a terrible risk I've 
run! Deliver us from crazy men, here among the tombs. 
How awful my arm aches, where he clutched it." 

While the garrulous sexton made his way to his own dwell- 
ing, to describe his mysterious guest, and imminent peril of life ; 
the supposed maniac was traversing the intervening space with 
breathless rapidity. Lights began to glimmer from the sparsely- 
sprinkled dwellings. The laborers, returning from toil, took 
their evening repast with their families. Here and there, a 
blazing hearth marked the dullness of advancing autumn. 

Rushing onward towards a long, low building of gray stone, 



260 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



which appeared to have many tenements, he leaned a moment 
against its walls, to recover respiration, and bowing down, 
looked through an uncurtained window in its gloomy base- 
ment. By the flickering light of some brush-wood, burning in 
the chimney, he saw a woman placing the fragments of a loaf 
upon a table, beside which sate two young children. She was 
thin, and bent ; but having her head turned from him, he was 
unable to see her features. Could that be her ; so changed] 
Yet, the " come in" that responded to his rap, was in a tone 
that thrilled his inmost soul. 

" Have you any food to bestow 1 I have travelled far, and 
am hungry." 

" Sit down, sir, here at the table. I wish I had something 
better to offer you. But you are welcome to our poor fare." 

And she pushed towards him the bread and the knife. He 
cut a slice, with a trembling hand. The youngest child, watch- 
ing the movement, whispered, with a reproachful look, — 

" Granny ! you said I should have two pieces to night, 'cause 
there was no dinner." 

" Hush, Richard ! " said the little sister, folding her arms 
around his neck. 

The returning wanderer with difficulty maintained his dis- 
guise, as he marked the deep wrinkles on that brow, which he 
had left so comely. 

" Have you only this broken loaf, my good woman ? I fear 
the portion I have taken, will not leave enough for you and 
these little ones." 

" We shall have more to-morrow, sir, if God will. It was 
not always thus with us. When my dear daughter and her 
husband were alive 3 there was always a sufficiency for the chil- 
dren, and for me. But they are both dead, sir ; the father, last 
year, and she, when that boy was born." 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 261 

" Had you no other children'? " 

Yes, sir. One, a son, a dear and most beautiful boy. Long 
years have passed, since he went away. Whether he is in the 
land of the living, God only knows. 

Her suppressed sob was changed to surprise and resistance, as 
the stranger would fain have folded her in his arms. Then, 
kneeling at her feet, and holding her thin hands in his, he 
said, — 

" Mother ! dear mother ! can you forgive me all 1 " 

There was no reply. The sunken eyes strained wide open, 
and fixed. Color fled from the lips. He carried her to the 
poor, low bed, and threw water upon her temples. He chafed 
the rigid hands, and in vain sought for some restorative to 
administer. 

" Wretch that I am ! Have I indeed killed her 1 " 

And then the shrieks of the children grew shrill and deaf- 
ening— 

" The strange man has killed grandmother ! " 

But the trance was brief. Light came to the eye, and joy to 
the heart, known only to that of the mother who, having sown 
in tears, beholds suddenly the blessed, unexpected harvest. 

" Do I live to see thy face 1 Let me hear thy dear voice 
once more, my son." 

But the son had vanished. At his return came supplies, such 
as that poor, half-subterranean apartment had never before wit- 
nessed ; and ere long, with those half-famished children, they 
partook of a repast, whose rich elements of enjoyment have 
seldom been surpassed on this troubled earth. 

" What a good, strange man ! " said the satisfied boy. 

a We must not call him the strange man any more, but our 
uncle," said little Margaret; "so he told me himself." 



262 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



" Why must we say so 1 " 

" Because he was dear mother's dear brother, just as you are 
mine. Did not you see that he cried, when grandmother told 
him she was dead? " 

" Well, I shall love him for that, and for the good supper he 
gave us." 

" Have you here my father's large Bible ? " asked the son of 
the widow. She brought it forth from its sacred depository, 
carefully wrapped in a towel. Tears of rapturous gratitude 
chased each other along the furrows, which bitter and burning 
ones had made so deep, as she heard him, with slow and solemn 
utterance, read that self-abasing melody of the Psalmist : " Have 
mercy upon me, God, according to thy loving-kindness ; 
according to the multitude of thy mercies, blot out my trans- 
gressions." 

This was the Psalm, that during his brokenness of spirit, on 
the deep waters, had been his comforter ; and now he seemed to 
breathe into its eloquent words, the soul of penitence and devo- 
tion. At its close, he kneeled and poured out a fervent prayer 
to the God of their salvation ; and the sleep which fell that 
night upon all the habitants of that lowly abode, was sweet as 
an angel's smile. 

The daily efforts of Richard Jones, for the comfort of his 
mother, were beautiful. Her unspoken wishes were studied 
with a zeal, which feels it can never either fully repay, or atone. 
For her sake, and for that of the little orphans intrusted to their 
care, he rejoiced at the gains, which, through the friendship of 
the supercargo, he had been enabled to acquire in a foreign 
clime, and which to their moderated desires were comparative 
wealth. 

But amid the prosperity which had been granted him, he still 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 263 

turned with humility to the memorials of his wasted years. In 
his conversations with his mother, he frankly narrated his sins ; 
and while he went down into the dark depths whither intemper- 
ance had led him, she shuddered, and was silent. Yet, when 
he spoke of the benefactor who had found him in the streets, 
ready to become a self-murderer, she raised her clasped hands, 
and with, strong emotion besought blessings on him who had 
" saved a soul from death." They felt that it is not the highest 
and holiest compassion to relieve the body's ills ; but to rescue 
and bind up the poor heart that hath wounded itself, and which 
the world hath cast out, to be trodden down in its unpurged 
guilt. 

He was not long in discovering how the heart of his mother 
yearned after that former home, from which poverty had driven 
her. On inquiry, he found that it might be obtained, having 
been recently tenanted by vagrant people. The time that he 
devoted to its thorough repair was happily spent. Its broken 
casements were replaced, and its dingy walls whitened. The 
fences were restored, with the pretty gate, over whose arch he 
promised himself, that another season should bring the blossom- 
ing vine that his lost sister had loved. 

He sought also, in various places, those articles of furniture 
which had been disposed of through necessity, and which he 
had valued in earlier days. Soon the old clock, with a new 
case, merrily ticked in the corner, and the cushioned arm-chair 
again stood by the hearth-stone. Near it was poor Margaret's 
work-table, with a freshly polished surface, on which he laid, 
when about to take possession, the large family Bible bearing 
his father's name. 

Bright and happy was that morning, when leaning on his 
arm, the children walking hand in hand beside them, neatly 



264 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



apparelled, the widowed mother approached the home endeared 
by tender recollections, and whence, poor and desolate, she had 
gone forth. As she paused a moment at the door, the overflow- 
ing, unutterable emotion, was gratitude for the restored virtue of 
the being most beloved on earth. It would seem that congenial 
thoughts occupied him, for drawing her arm more tenderly 
within his own, he said : " Lo ! this thy son was dead, and is 
alive again, and was lost, and is found." 



THE TEMPERANCE REFORMATION, 
AND THE CHURCH. 



BY REV. E. N. KIRK. 



, This great moral reformatory movement presents a novel 
feature in human history. It stands alone as an enterprise 
whose aim is the destruction of a single vice ; as an enterprise 
growing in strength ; forming a literature of its own ; revolution- 
izing the habits of a large part of one nation; and creating 
a new standard of morality in the Church and in the world, 
there. The theatre of its triumph is the United States of America 
— the citizens of which, mainly descended from the northern 
nations of Europe, had inherited the maxims, customs, and 
tastes of their Saxon and Celtic ancestors. The use of intoxi- 
cating beverages was interwoven with all the interesting occur- 
rences of social life, and much of the festive enjoyment of 
domestic life. The constant medical employment of these dan- 
gerous substances, had likewise placed the vice of intemperance 
beyond the range of ordinary restraining and redeeming influ- 
ences. A vast pecuniary interest was enlisted in behalf of these 
customs ; and the example of every family in the land, almost 



266 



THE TEMPERANCE REFORMATION 



without exception, had become dangerous, if not destructive to 
the young. In this state of things it became perfectly obvious 
to some philanthropic men, that the ordinary influence of the 
church, and the existing mode of preaching would never reach 
this growing evil. Drunkenness was increasing. Men were 
disgraced for the crime. But the examples and maxims of the 
neighbors who despised them, had directly created the despicable 
habits. 

In view of these facts, it was determined that a new public 
sentiment must be created by organization, or combination of 
effort to enlighten the public conscience. 

In speaking of this as a peculiar enterprise, allusion is made 
to the fact, that while very few vices have ever been attacked 
by such a combination of moral influences apart from the church, 
no similar combination has ever enjoyed such success. 

But where are we now 1 A very interesting inquiry indeed ; 
And one which may bring very diverse answers. The period 
of excitement is certainly past. The phrase of " the reformers' 
combination " too, is pretty much past away. And it is then 
an interesting inquiry ; where are we 1 All is not gained that 
was once hoped for, and even expected. The traffic in alcohol 
is not demonstrated to be in all cases, and unqualifiedly, wrong. 
Were it possible to make it appear so, then the makers and 
venders would stand in all cases on a level with gamblers, and 
the proprietors of vile houses. The use of any thing that intox- 
icates is not in every case, an absolute wrong. This fact has 
left the vice of drunkenness still where many other vices are ; 
It is evident that some men are vicious, but it is difficult always 
to tell where their viciousness begins. Yet something has been 
gained ; much indeed ! If we could compute the numbers res- 
cued from the habits of intemperance, and the greater numbers 
saved from the evils and perils of forming the habit, we should 



AND THE CHURCH. 267 

see a work worthy of a thousand-fold more energy and money 
than it has actually cost. But a still greater result is seen in 
the principles established and widely embraced, which were 
not understood and believed, thirty years ago. It is now 
known that alcohol is not man's beverage ; that to make and 
vend and use it, as such, is a moral wrong. Its medicinal use 
also is now more vigilantly guarded ; and its connection with 
social life is, with a large class of the community, entirely 
dissolved. 

But, as a Reformation, where is it 1 Gradually ceasing to hold 
its prominent place ; because its mission is just so far fulfilled, 
as it has incorporated its higher morality with the religion of the 
land. On this point the friends of Temperance may differ. 
But my opinion I give, as freely as I permit others to give theirs. 
Morality cannot long be upheld separate from Religion. And 
the only propriety in organizing a separate institution for pro- 
moting any branch of virtue, is ; that, for some reason, the 
church will not advocate the true standard on that point. Then, 
let whoever has more light than the church, combine with 
others, to show his light. And he may be sure, that in the end, 
the true chuch will embrace his doctrine, and thenceforward 
enforce it with all the sanctions of religion. So far as this is 
accomplished, the end of such organizations is accomplished ; 
and the necessity for their existence ceases. The idea of any 
institution becoming permanent, whose sole object is the pro- 
motion of one, and that an external virtue, is not enforced by 
any thing in man's nature or in the history of society. 

How long then shall this reformation be continued by the aid 
of distinct organizations 1 Just so long as the Church fails to 
adoptit fully as her own, if sufficient enthusiasm can be kept 
alive to sustain it. But the view here presented suggests these 
considerations to reformers. All attempts to make the Temper- 



268 



THE TEMPERANCE REFORMATION, 



ance Reformation from intemperance, merely a secular interest, 
appealing to the lower desires of temporal good, and acting in 
independence of the sanctifying spirit of God, is as unwise, as 
it is unchristian. I saw a recent article which charged a leading 
reformer with being visionary, because one of his sources of 
hope was the agency of the Holy Spirit in revivals of religion. 
If that is " not practical," as the writer seems to think, then 
man has no hold on heaven, and his hope of deliverance from 
one form of sin must be rendered vain by the conviction that all 
his reformations will be but a lopping off the branches, while 
the root and sap are unchanged. " Make the tree good," said 
the great Reformer. And to help man obey that radical com- 
mand, he promised to send the Holy Spirit. 

Another consideration suggested by this view, is, that the 
friends of virtue should not remit their efforts in this particular 
direction, until the true ground is taken by the Church on this 
subject. Let the sacramental question alone ; let the medical 
men determine what they alone are competent to determine on 
this subject. Let legislative bodies license or refuse to license 
the sale of poison to suicides. Let men traffic in blood, who 
love the employment. Be all this as it may, one thing is clear 
as a fact, and one course is manifestly right ; the use of intoxi- 
cating beverages ; the mere gratification of animal appetite as 
an end ; any pursuit of pleasure as an end, is immoral and- un- 
christian. The Church of Christ therefore must exert all her 
legitimate influence to enlighten and quicken the consciences of 
man on this subject. 

Shall she discipline for Intemperance ? Every one answers 
affirmatively, in cases where witnesses will testify to a positive 
act of drunkenness in a Church-member. But shall her discip- 
line be administered for trading in intoxicating beverages; for 
using wines at the table 1 Questions easily proposed ; not so 



AND THE CHURCH. 269 

easily answered. If you discipline for trading in alcohol, you 
must draw a clear line between those who trade in it indis- 
criminately, and those who trade, only, with the intention of 
having it rightly used, and only with the persons who use it 
aright. I do not say, there will not be cases where a man pro- 
fessing to serve Christ is so manifestly " Scattering firebrands, 
arrows and death," that a Church may see her way clear to 
excommunicate him, after having exhausted all other proper 
influences to withdraw him from the work of murder. But it 
will be found in practice, a matter involving many difficulties. 
It must at last be referred to the judgment and conscience of a 
Church, where the Word of God presents no specific legislation, 
to apply its general laws to particular cases. I am sure that a 
Church has the right to require of a wholesale dealer in alcohol, 
who is in her communion, that he conscientiously restrict his 
sales to cases where he has sufficient reason to believe that it is 
to be employed for medicinal, sacramental and chemical pur- 
poses. How long she shall remonstrate with one who " refuses 
to hear the Church," cannot be determined by rule. A still 
harder case is that of the social use of wines. I know of no 
Church that has yet commenced the exercise of her discipline 
for the practice of placing wine on the table. If we ought to 
do so; if the example of the marriage in Cana presents no 
obstacle to such a course, then the Reformers must continue 
their work, until the Church shall take that ground. Let us 
only be sure that we " have the mind of the Lord ; " and do 
not fall into the sin of " lording it over God's heritage." All 
excessive measures react; all extravagance of feeling in one 
direction oscillates to produce a balance, by going as far in the 
opposite direction. Sin came into the world in one brief hour, 
probably. Sixty centuries have nearly rolled away, without 
seeing it exterminated. The great requisites for opposing sin 



270 TEMP. REFORMATION, AND THE CHURCH 



are these — that we cordially hate it in its essence, in its relations 
to God, as well as its consequences ; that we oppose it first in 
ourselves; that we oppose it by repentance toward God, and 
faith in our Lord Jesus Christ ; that we use Christ's gospel in 
the length and breadth of its instructions and motives, as an 
instrument man- ward ; that we employ prayer toward God ; 
that we combine an unquenchable zeal with an unwearied 
patience. 



FATHER MATHEW. 

The chief worth of a human life is the incitement to virtue 
or warning against vice which we naturally derive from it. 
Divested of this incitement, this warning, biography would be 
unprofitable reading, and the most exalted or dazzling career 
would hardly repay an hour's contemplation. What the hero 
did or dared, achieved or renounced, is important to us only as 
it impels us to do good or avoid evil, and shows us the way. 
Tried by this standard, how many great reputations dwindle ! 
how many humble souls shine forth in celestial brightness and 
majesty ! 

Theobald Mathew was born at Thomastown, near Cashel, 
Tipperary county, Ireland, on the 10th o£ October, 1790, of 
parents in the middle walks of life. Left an orphan when still 
a child, he was adopted by Lady Elizabeth Mathew, wife of his 
uncle, Major General Mathew of Thomastown, by whom his 
primary education was confided to Rev. Dennis O'Donnell, 
Catholic priest of Tallagh in Waterford county, with whom he 
continued until thirteen years of age, when he was promoted 
to the lay-academy of Kilkenny, conducted by Rev. Patrick 
McGrath, with whom he became a decided favorite. Here he 
formed the acquaintance of two old Capuchin friars, whose 



272 



Fx\THER MATHEW. 



frugal, temperate and benevolent lives, combined with their 
fatherly counsels in deepening the impressions of piety, humil- 
ity and charity which had been early made upon his plastic 
mind by the maternal counsels of his second mother, Lady 
Elizabeth Mathew, and fixed his character for life. 

He remained seven years at the academy, and then (in 1810) 
was transferred to the Catholic college at Maynooth, to pursue 
his studies for the priesthood, to which he had early been 
impelled and as (he humbly believed) Divinely directed. He 
studied the prescribed three years at Maynooth, then returned to 
his friar friends at Kilkenny, and became a member of their 
order, by which he was appointed on a mission to Cork. He 
immediately repaired to Dublin to pass a season under the direc- 
tion of Rev. Celestine Corcoran in spiritual preparation for the 
duties devolved upon him, and was finally ordained there by 
Rev. Dr. Murray, now Archbishop of Dublin, on Easter Sun- 
day, 1814, and repaired at once to his appointed field of labor, 
being not quite twenty-four years of age. 

The young missionary entered upon his work with the zeal 
of an apostle, and the assiduity of a humble, pious soul, which 
counts the redemption of one sinner from the error of his ways 
a rich reward for days of toil and nights of prayer. Nor did he 
deem his duties confined to the dispensation of theologic truth 
alone. A missionary to the poor, he speedily learned and loved 
to be their counselor and guide in temporal as well as spiritual 
things — to teach them how to walk wisely and safely on earth 
as well as steadily and surely toward Heaven. While he 
eagerly improved every opportunity to persuade the vicious to 
repent and the infidel to believe, he labored with equal diligence 
to reconcile the quarreling, to compromise the disputes and dif- 
ferences which the sinful and passionate were addicted to carry- 
ing into lawsuits, to the certain bankruptcy and temporal ruin of 







' 



It Secured 



FATHER MATHEW. 273 

all parties, the lawyers excepted. Every hour, every impulse, 
not absolutely required by his sacerdotal functions, was thus 
consecrated to the immediate and practical good of the thou- 
sands commended to his guidance, nine-tenths of whom had 
probably no other disinterested and competent adviser on earth. 

Such a course, on the part of a young, modest, simple friar, 
without parochial charge or sacerdotal rank, without command- 
ing talents or fascinating eloquence, did not mature its fruit too 
rapidly. Probably no local magnate, no distinguished visiter, 
who spent some time in Cork during the first four or five years 
of his ministry, heard one word uttered in praise of Father 
Mathew — perhaps the greater number of such visiters had no 
intimation of his existence. But the poor knew him even then, 
and with each succeeding year they knew him more widely and 
learned to love him more profoundly. He was their adviser, 
their monitor, their consoler ; and when they fell into misfortune 
or disgrace, they had generally to reproach themselves with a 
disregard of their good friar's affectionate counsels and entreaties. 

A heart so tender and so true, a spirit so deeply moved by the 
spectacle of human woes and sorrows, could not long rest satis- 
fied with the application of remedies and palliatives. In a 
world so benignantly fashioned and appointed, why should suf- 
fering and misery be so general 1 The devoted friar observed, 
reflected, and was convinced that human perverseness, and not 
any inexorable necessity, was the cause of this suffering. His 
own perceptions and the confessions of the afflicted coincided in 
indicating intoxicating liquors as the immediate cause of nine- 
tenths of the crime and wretchedness which prevailed around 
him. Was it not natural — nay, inevitable — that he should 
resolve to make war unto death upon the fruitful source rather 
than rest in a never-ending struggle against the resulting evils 1 

Father Mathew, still a young and obscure friar, resolved to 

18 



274 



FATHER MATHEW. 



aim his blows at the vulture tearing the heart of his country ra- 
ther than expend his power and patience on the pustules con- 
stantly breaking out on her surface. Alcoholic liquors being the 
palpable, potential cause of nearly all the vice, disease and misery 
so deplorably prevalent, he resolved to head a crusade against 
these deluding poisons as the shortest and most effectual mode of 
warfare against their inevitable issues. And thus, at an early 
period of his ministry, he began to inculcate in private and to 
preach in public the glorious doctrine of Total Abstinence 

FROM ALL THAT CAN INTOXICATE. 

He was not, and makes no claim to be, the author or reviver 
of this doctrine. There had been societies based upon it years 
before, not only in America, but in Europe, and even in Ireland. 
The Friends, or Quakers, had organized such societies nine years 
earlier, and had made some converts who were not of their own 
persuasion. But he who knows anything of the fierceness of 
theological bigotry in Ireland needs no other assurance that a 
movement originated and guided by Quakers could do little 
toward effecting the great and difficult reform so fearfully need- 
ed. Drinking and drunkenness were both more general at the 
time Father Mathew commenced his war upon them than they 
had been at any former period. If they were not still advancing, 
it was because they had nothing left to conquer. Drinking at 
fairs, births, christenings, weddings, wakes, and funerals was ex- 
cessive, and all but universal. For a guest to refrain from getting 
drunk at his friend's feast, no matter of what character, would in 
many circles have been deemed a breach of good manners, as a 
failure to supply the means of intoxication profusely would have 
argued on the host's part a lack of hospitality. To get drunk in 
honor of a stroke of good fortune, or in sorrow at a dispensation 
of adversity — to lie drunk because of prosperity, or still more stu- 
pidly drunk by way of surrender to despair — such was the all 



FATHER MATHEW. 275 

but universal custom. To get drunk by way of preparation for 
a fight, no matter with whom — to fight because drunk, and beat 
each other sober, then get drunk again by way of ratifying a 
treaty of peace ; such were among the habits of the Irish mil- 
lions- a quarter to half a century ago, as memoirs, travels, anec- 
dotes and plays abundantly attest. No where else in the world 
was so large a share of the natural food of a people transformed 
into depraving, poisoning, brutalizing beverages, leaving so scan- 
ty and often inadequate an allowance of bread. That feuds, 
factions, wounds, bruises, calamities, diseases, idiocies, and sud- 
den deaths of all kinds should, under such influences, be plen- 
teous, none need be assured. 

Father Mathew commenced his crusade against alcohol sim- 
ply as a priest, and, finding by inquiry and confession, that nine- 
tenths of the woes he was summoned to abate or console had 
their origin in intoxicating liquors, commenced by persuading the 
sufferers, where he could, to promise him to avoid thenceforth 
that which had wrought them such injury. This was for a time 
the extent of his unnoticed labors for Total Abstinence. But 
the work grew upon his hands ; a vista of hope and good opened 
wider and plainer before him, as he progressed ; and in 1838 he 
commenced holding two public meetings per week, on the suc- 
cessive Tuesdays and Saturdays, to exhort and persuade not only 
the intemperate to reform, but the as yet unpolluted to take also 
the pledge of Total Abstinence. 

His first meetings were held at a place known as the Horse 
Bazaar, in Cork, where he delivered his semi-weekly addresses, 
distributed his Temperance circulars — (which were often reprints 
of American tracts, essays and brief stories,) and administered the 
Pledge to all who could be induced to take it. That Pledge, as 
now administered — and it has probably undergone little change 
from the outset — is in these words : 



276 



FATHER MATHEW. 



" i promise, with the dlvine assistance, to abstain from 
all Intoxicating Liquors, and to prevent, as much as pos- 
sible, BY ADVICE AND EXAMPLE, INTEMPERANCE IN OTHERS." 

A simple and modest promise, but one which has abated and 
obviated more human anguish than all the decrees of councils or 
mandates of kings for the last century. 

Father Mathew's path of duty lay not wholly through sun- 
shine. Intending good to all and harm to none, he yet exposed 
himself to much obloquy and more acrimony. Thousands all 
around him were living in comfort and amassing wealth by a 
traffic which his efforts necessarily diminished and tended utterly 
to destroy. The gentry of Ireland, who were generally looked 
up to as superior beings, were extensively engaged in the manu- 
facture of spirits, or derived their incomes from the rent of distil- 
leries, taverns and tap-rooms. A vast aggregate of capital and 
capacity was invested in the distilling business, which was al- 
most the only Irish manufacture still expanding and flourishing. 
Dealers, publicans and tapsters were innumerable, while very 
nearly the whole people were drinkers and passionate lovers of 
the maddening fluid. Three of Father Mathew's own brothers 
and a brother-in-law were deeply interested in distilling, and 
likely to be ruined by the success of his effective appeals and in- 
cessant labors. He was of course pained by the obvious collision 
of his duty with the interests of those so dear to him, but he could 
not be seduced from fidelity to his convictions. 

u The kingdom of God cometh not with observation." For 
years the good friar had labored on, neither solicitous of fame 
nor regretting obscurity, before the attraction of a wider field of 
usefulness impelled him to open his public meetings expressly to 
win converts to Temperance, which had hitherto been but an 
incident of his ecclesiastical labors. Now the poor of Cork be- 
gan to flock to him in crowds ; soon the sufferers from alcohol 



FATHER MATHEW- 277 

in places more or less remote began to drop in by twos and threes, 
then by dozens and scores, at last by forties and hundreds, at his 
meetings or dwelling, to receive at his hands the administration 
of the saving, fortifying pledge. These carried home and dif- 
fused the fame of the saintly and meek Apostle of Temperance ; 
and some pressing invitations were sent him to visit other places 
and prosecute his labors therein. In December, 1839, he was 
persuaded by Dr. R} T an, Catholic Bishop of Limerick, to visit 
that city, and here, (like Byron, though for a nobler reason,) he 
suddenly ' found himself famous.' The city could not lodge all 
the people who crowded into it to meet him, and thousands slept 
on the ground, though every cellar and shed were filled. The 
iron railing along the bank of the Shannon, opposite the house 
in which he was a guest, was at one time broken down by the 
pressure of the multitude, and several persons were precipitated 
into the river, though happily without loss of life. So dense 
was the crowd at his first meeting, that individuals walked over 
the shoulders of kneeling thousands to receive tbe pledge and 
the Apostle's blessing, and soldiers, endeavoring to preserve 
order, were lifted from the ground by a rush of the people, and 
borne several rods without injury to any one. 

From the date of that visit, Father Mathew's fame has been 
a part of the national heritage, while his labors have been inces- 
sant and their fruits gigantic. He has traveled over Ireland 
more than once, administering the pledge to no less than five 
millions of her people, or about two-thirds the whole number 
now living, and reduced the number of drunkards in a still greater 
proportion. At Donnybrook Fair, world-famous for its drunken 
riots, there were recently gathered fifty thousand persons, not 
one of them intoxicated, and of course without a single fight. 
Listowell, which had thirty-three licensed drunkard-factories in 
1839, had but six in 1843, and so of many other places. In 



278 



FATHER MATHEW. 



Bonmahon, where fifteen whiskey-shops existed prior to Father 
Mathew's visit, there was not one some time afterward. The 
consequent falling off in commitments to jail for drunkenness, 
rioting, assaults, &c, has been very great, and so in the recep- 
tions at hospitals of persons disabled or wounded by blows, falls, 
or accidents, as well as of the loathsome victims of delirium 
tremens. Ireland, once a reproach for drunkenness, is now a 
land of comparative sobriety, and Father Mathew was the chief 
instrument of Divine benignity in effecting this glorious trans- 
formation. 

Of his charities, his cemetery, and other devices for the com- 
fort and consolation of the poor — of his visit to, and labors in 
England — of his yet uncompleted mission to our own country 
and its beneficent results, space is not left me to speak. These 
belong to a later chronicler, a more methodical memoir. The 
one important moral of Father Mathew's career is the ability 
and opportunity vouchsafed to every one to be greatly useful if 
he will. This truth his life strikingly illustrates, and there can 
hardly be another more deserving of attention. The good friar 
is not gifted with splendid talents, with brilliant oratory, with 
wealth nor rank nor powerful friends — he had scarcely an ad- 
vantage of any sort which most of the young who will read this 
sketch may not possess or parallel if they will. His elevation 
above the mass of his cotemporaries is purely moral, not intel- 
tual ; it rests upon purity of life, goodness of heart, and Chris- 
tian philanthropy of purpose. Who that contemplates such a 
character shall seek to excuse himself from a career of equal 
beneficence and eternal glory? 



DASH THE WINE-CUP AWAY. 

BY WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH. 

Dash the wine-cup away ! though its sparkle should be 
More bright than the gerns that lie hid in the sea, — 
For the Demon, unseen by thine eye, lurketh there, 
Who would win thee to ruin, to woe, and despair ! 

Believe not the tempter who tells thee of joy 

In the bright flashing goblets that lure to destroy ; 

Nor barter thy birthright, nor give up thy soul, 

For a moment's mad bliss, to the Fiend of the Bowl ' 

Oh, the mighty have fallen ! — the strong and the proud 
To the thrall of the wine-cup have abjectly bowed ; 
For its maddening delights flung their glory away. 
And yielded, insanely, their souls to its sway. 

The wise and the learned in the lore of the schools, 
Have drunk — and become the derision of fools ; 
And the light that made radiant the spirit divine, 
Hath often been quenched in a goblet of wine. 



280 



DASH THE WINE-CUP AWAY. 



Youth and Beauty, while yet in their strength and their glow. 
Have been marked by the fiend and in ruin laid low ; 
And the Priest and the Statesman together have kneeled 
To the Wine-God obscene, till in madness they reeled ! 

Oh, the Earth in her woe for her children hath wept, 
To the grave of the drunkard in hecatombs swept ; 
While the Demon, enthroned o'er her sunniest climes, 
Hath unleashed, in his wrath, all his woes and his crimes ! 

And the altars of Devils still smoke with the blood 

Of our sires and our sons — once the wise and the good — 

While dark and more dark, gather over our path 

The clouds that are charged with Jehovah's dread wrath ! 

Shall we wait till they burst, and from mountain to sea 
Old Earth like the Valley of Hinnom shall be 1 
And sternly o'er all, Desolation shall reign, 
While the vulture sits gorged over heaps of the slain ? 

Nay — up to the rescue ! The land must be torn 

From the grasp of the Demon whose fetters we've worn — 

Our homes, by his touch, be no longer profaned — 

Our souls in his thraldom, no more be enchained ! 



Dash the wine-cup away ! we will henceforth be free — 
Earth's captives their morn of redemption shall see, 
And the foul fiend that bound them be thrust back to Hell, 
While the songs of our triumph exultingly swell ! 






INCONSISTENCIES OP 
PROFESSED FRIENDS OF TEMPERANCE 



BY CHARLES JEWETT, M 



Temperance is often sorely wounded in the house of its 
friends ; and painful as is the task of administering reproof, yet 
I shall attempt it, even at the hazard of displeasing many 
whom, in the main, I have reason to respect. Breaking the 
package of inconsistencies, the first that comes to hand is that 
most extraordinary and inexcusable one, of which many, even 
members of temperance societies, are guilty — letting public- 
houses and shops with the permission to carry on the detestable 
and destructive traffic in intoxicating drinks within their doors. 
What renders such a course of conduct altogether inexcusable 
in those who practice it, is the fact they are generally men of 
wealth, who might, without serious inconvenience, let their 
estates for other purposes, or who, if they could not, would not 
eat less bread or sleep less hours if they stood untenanted. Yet 
many there are who will condemn the conduct of the heartless 
rumseller, although he offers as an excuse his necessities, and 
can quote Scripture to enforce the duty of providing for " one's 
household," and talks about ruin, distress, &c. if he ceases to 



282 



INCONSISTENCIES OF PROFESSED 



ruin others ! and yet they will let their tavern or shop for a 
slaughter-house of souls, for an additional rent of ten, twenty 
or fifty dollars, when, I repeat, of property they have enough 
for present and prospective wants, and perhaps a surplus suffi- 
cient to ruin their children. In what consists the guilt of the 
rumseller ? Is it not that he furnishes to vice facilities, to crime 
its incitants 1 And does not the lessor of the grog-shop afford to 
vice facilities, and to crime means and opportunity? The day 
will come, — or I sadly mistake the signs of the times, — when 
he who furnishes the room in which drunkards and tipplers 
may congregate to gratify their base appetites will be, in the 
estimation of the public bound in the same bundle with him 
who pours to them poison for money. How can any professed 
friend of the cause, who is guilty of the conduct I have des- 
cribed plead with the rumseller or rum-drinker to change his 
course ? He dare not attempt it. They would both taunt him 
with his inconsistency. 

Would that this were the only obstacle which the friends of 
our cause, influenced by the love of money, throw in the path 
of reform. But it is not. Another more formidable may be 
found in the fact, that many, very many, so far as my observa- 
tion extends, even of the members of our total abstinence socie- 
ties are constantly in the habit of trading at rum stores, having 
their sugar, tea, spices, &c. put up by the same hands that 
pour out the maddening draught to the poor drunkard. 
They condemn his business in unmeasured terms, and yet help 
to sustain him in his business. They pour into his drawer the 
profits of their trade, which, in due time, are exchanged for 
rum, gin, &c, with which his decanters are replenished : and 
so the work goes on. Were the temperance community to 
withdraw their patronage altogether and leave him to the sup- 
port of his rum customers, he could not, in most of our country 



FRIENDS OF TEMPERANCE. 283 

towns at least, sustain himself, and if forced by the consistency 
of temperance men to part with his rum trade, or their patron- 
age he would empty his bottles, and cease to order from your 
city, hogsheads of wretchedness, crime, disease, and death, to 
peddle in the beautiful villages and towns of the interior. 

The business of destroying God's bounties and human hopes, 
so extensively carried on by some bloated capitalists of your 
city, would soon become unprofitable as it is infamous. The 
excuses for such a course of conduct generally are, that it is more 
convenient to trade at the rum store, because it is nearer, or that 
the articles they wish to obtain can be purchased cheaper of the 
rumseller than at the temperance store. Of any who may offer 
such an excuse, I would ask, What then ? Suppose the rum- 
seller continue his trade on the ground that it would be inconve- 
nient for him to change his business or that it would subject him 
to pecuniary loss were he to abandon it ? shall he go on 1 Oh, 
no ! You will not consent that his convenience or profit shall 
be taken into account in deciding his future course. You 
demand that he give up his business perhaps at a loss of five 
hundred, or a thousand dollars per year ! and yet if he refuses 
to do so and continue to exert his influence to curse the commu- 
nity in which you live you will sustain him in his course by the 
profits and influence of your trade to save a half-mile's travel or 
a cent on a pound in the purchase of your sugar. These things 
ought not to be ; and we earnestly entreat those who may 
peruse this article, to examine themselves in reference to this 
particular, and if they have been faulty in time past, be 
careful that their whole influence in future shall be given to the 
promotion of our glorious cause. 



TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION 



BY REV. ALBERT EARNES. 

Good men everywhere are endeavoring to promote reforma- 
tion. The age in which we live is characterized by such efforts, 
perhaps as much as by anything else. A deep interest is felt — 
an interest which has not been common in former ages,' — in be- 
half of those who are wronging themselves by vicious indulgence, 
and in relation to all those systems which originate or perpetuate 
wrong. These efforts are made to bear alike on individuals that 
they may be recovered from habits which threaten their ruin, 
and on social and organic wrongs and evils. Yet we need not 
go far to see that the subject of reformation is, after all the 
attempts which are made, but little understood ; and that there 
are few things which men attempt, where the principles of action 
are less accurately denned. The efforts which are made are well 
meaning ; the plans which are adopted, are designed to be be- 
nevolent ; but they are often wild and visionary, and harsh and 
unphilosophical. The hope of success is often based on that 
which is philosophically false ; or on that which has no perma- 
nent value and importance ; the single object which is aimed at 
is often so magnified as to occupy the whole field of vision ; and 
the reformation is prosecuted with no just apprehension of the 






TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION. 285 

proportional value of things, and with a reckless, or designed 
disregard of the most valuable interests of society. 

The question then, What is the true philosophy of reforma- 
tion ? is one of great permanent importance in an age like this. 
To what principles shall we appeal in promoting individual or 
public reform? on what shall we base our hopes ? What is there 
on which we may rely to give permanent success ? This ques- 
tion has more than the passing interest of a day ; I propose to 
examine it with a particular reference to the present aspect of 
the temperance reformation. That has been among the most 
glorious of all reforms ; what has been gained there, may be in 
danger of being lost by a departure from its true principles, and 
by reliance on that which is of no permanent value. One grave 
question which is now coming before this age is, whether this 
reformation can be carried forward to its final triumph, without 
the aid of the religious principles or of religious men ; and 
whether there are other principles which can be successfully sub- 
stituted in the place of those which are directly derived from reli- 
gion. The importance then, without undervaluing other aid, of 
calling in the aid of religious principle, and of relying permanent- 
ly on that, and of calling in the steady co-operation of religious 
men, will be the point at which my remarks will be really directed. 

In all attempts to promote reformation — that is a change for 
the better — in an individual or in society, there is some ground 
of appeal ; something on which we found our hopes of success. 
We do not expect that it will be achieved by miracle ; or by the 
operation of any new laws of our nature originated for the pur- 
pose, or by any element in society which has never existed be- 
fore. Now, on what do we rely in such cases? What is the 
ground of our appeal ? What is the foundation of our hope ? 
Let us analyze the operations of our own minds in such cases, 
and see what there is on which we can rely. 



286 



TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION. 



First, we suppose that there is something in the individual, 
whom we would wish to reform, that is not yet quite extinct, 
that may be roused again into life and power, and be made the 
element of better things. We do not regard him as quite dead 
and insensible to every generous and noble appeal ; but beneath 
the rubbish in his ruined nature, we hope to find some remnant 
of a noble soul ; some generous sympathy that may be awaken- 
ed into vigorous life ; some almost antiquated spark of virtue 
that may be enkindled to a flame, that principle or element in 
the soul, we would rouse up, so that it may assert its just pre- 
rogative, and triumph over the base and ignoble passions which 
have usurped its place. We would go to the man that is debased 
and sunken and find in him, if we could, some love of father 
or mother, or sister, or child, or country ; some not extinguished 
self-respect ; some lessons embedded in childhood, not wholly 
obliterated ; some remains of a conscience ; some respect for 
decency ; some lingering love of gain, or virtue or God ; some 
principle of ambition or desire to be remembered after death, 
that may be roused into action, and that may be made to be 
superior in power to the base principles which now control the 
soul. So Paley was saved. " You are a great fool," said a 
young heir of nobility to him, when in the University — a com- 
panion in dissipation ; — " You are a great fool, to be wasting 
your talents thus. You have talents, which might raise you to 
the highest distinction. I have not ; and, as for me, I may as 
well as not squander my time in this manner." The generous 
soul of Paley ; his noble nature not yet insensible to an appeal 
addressed to his ambition, felt the reproof. He took the hint 
thus roughly tendered ; and there are few names in English 
literature that shine more brightly than his. In all attempts at 
reformation — whether it be of the young man who is a profane 
swearer, or the wretched female apparently lost to virtue ; or of 



TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION. 287 

the poor inebriate — the object of universal pity or scorn, or of 
the sinner revolted from his God, and whom God is desirous to 
bring back to the ways of virtue and religion, man is regarded 
as indeed in ruins ; but beneath those ruins, there is supposed to 
be something generous, something noble, something great, some- 
thing magnanimous, to which an appeal may be made with the 
hope that he may be aroused to seek an object worthy of the 
ends for which he was made. There are some fragments of 
greatness ; there are elements of power ; there is still something 
noble and God-like on which you may build your hope. 

If these should not exist, you would regard the case as hope- 
less. If all self-respect were gone ; if all love of father, moth- 
er, wife, child, sister, country were extinguished ; if there were 
no lingering love of decency, property, esteem; if there were 
no wish to be happy while living, or to be remembered when 
dead, we should feel that there was no prospect of success in a 
work of reformation. 

I need not say that these remarks apply with peculiar force to 
the subject of temperance. If there is any man who seems 
lost to hope and to virtue, and whose condition would seem to 
def)^ all efforts to reform him it is the confirmed inebriate. In 
such a man, everything which excites elevated thought in 
regard to the present or the future world, seems to be dead ; 
and the common and almost the settled feeling of mankind had 
come to be, that such a man must be abandoned to despair. 
But is there no hope of his reformation : is there nothing in him 
to which an appeal can be made with a prospect of success : 
let the efforts expressly directed to recover the inebriate, and 
successful in thousands of instances, answer. 

An almost accidental occurrence in Baltimore struck a new 
chord, and showed that reformed inebriates, by telling the story 
of their own sad experience, might strike a chord which should 



288 



TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION. 



respond to the appeal. They did so. They related their own 
history, and they sought to arouse in the heart of the drunkard 
a love of something-, of the wife whom he had once so joyfully 
led to the altar. Of the children he had once so lovingly dan- 
dled on his knees — or some lurking love of himself and respect 
for his character. And the result has shown that it is practica- 
ble. There is hope of reforming the intemperate man. And 
the question now arises, on what are we to rely for the per- 
manent success of this cause? To what class of minds does it 
appeal? Shall we continue to appeal solely to the intemperate 
man? or shall we rely on the higher principle of religion and 
call to our aid the religious community? I need not say that 
a large part of the religious community have stood aloof from 
this cause and do so still. And again a portion of the friends of 
temperance have sought to throw off the religious community. 
And so there has been a constant tendency between the two to 
diverge from each other. Whether it were that religious men 
were indulging in habits inconsistent with aiding this cause — 
whether they had capital invested in business with which it 
would interfere, and they lacked the requisite self-denial : 
whether ministers were indulging in habits hostile to its princi- 
ples, or a large part felt that it was somehow a low business, 
and therefor stood aloof: or whether in the progress of the 
cause itself among its friends such a course was pursued as that 
the friends of religion could not consistently act with them — 
these are not the points of chief interest now. But so it is. 
There are a large number of ministers and members of churches 
who still stand aloof. Now, what interest have religious men 
in this cause ; and why should the friends of Temperance seek 
their co-operation? We can answer this inquiry better after 
glancing at the points which have been established in the 
progress of the temperance reformation. 



TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION. 289 

1. It is established that alcohol is the same wherever found; 
that it is not the result of distillation, but of fermentation, which 
is a chemical process ; and that it is the same in rum, brandy, 
wines or cider. 

2. That this substance contains no nutriment — that it does 
nothing to repair the constant waste of the animal economy. 

3. That on the fibres of the human system it acts as poison 
in all instances when it acts at all. 

4. That it is a fruitful source of poverty, wretchedness and 
crime ! for it has been proved that three-fourths of all these 
evils result from its use. 

5. That it is a source of disease and death. 

6. That the whole traffic in ardent spirits is inconsistent with 
those principles upon which honorable men should conduct traf- 
fic. I do not say that those who made the existing laws for its 
regulation were actuated by improper motives. I know that 
they said and believed that alcohol was necessary for the cold 
and weary traveller ; that it would be dangerous to allow every 
one to sell it, and so they would require evidence of good cha- 
racter in those to whom they granted licences for its sale. To 
secure this in Pennsylvania they required the certificate of 
twelve men that the applicant was worthy of being intrusted 
with the sale of this poison. I say not how this trust has been 
discharged. But the whole thing was wrong. It is not need- 
ful; it is poisonous and should be intrusted to no man. 

7. We have also settled the principle that it is possible to 
reform a drunkard ; and still more, that the only perfect safety is 
for a man to let it entirely alone, and so never encounter the 
danger. The only perfect safety is in total abstinence. 

These principles are to abide. The world is not to depart 
from them. They are the result of the most profound inquiries 
of the most learned men — jurists, men of science, ministers — 

19 



290 



TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION 



all, men of character and in the habit of deciding such ques- 
tions. Now, these principles are not to pass away. And on 
what shall we rely for their further and final triumph 1 I be- 
lieve it right to appeal to the laws of the land, and I trust soon 
to hear that no further licences will be granted for the sale of 
intoxicating drinks. I believe, too, that reliance is to be placed 
upon the deductions of science. But the ultimate reliance must 
be on the religious principle and on the religious community. 
In support of this position, I urge these considerations. 

1. The religious principle, right or wrong, is the most power- 
ful agency in the world. Whatever controls that, controls the 
world, and it has always been the aim of emperors and kings to 
obtain control of the religion of the state, feeling that when 
they had acquired that, they held the destiny of the whole. 
The priest everywhere has been the man of power. And if 
the religious principle can be enlisted in the cause of temper- 
ance the triumph of that cause is secured for ever ; and that it 
should be so enlisted is most evident, for the highest points 
reached in the temperance cause, coincide perfectly with the 
principles of religion. 

2. In a community under the influence of religion, no reform 
can succeed that does not call religion to its aid. In the United 
States there are eighteen thousand Protestant evangelical min- 
isters, meeting the people two or three times a week, going 
into families, and exerting more influence over the youth of the 
land than any other body of men within its borders. There are 
also two millions of members of the churches — embracing a 
large part of the wealth and character of the land, there is no 
cause of reform in the country that could stand a day if the 
Church were united against it. And there is no form of evil, 
organic or individual, that the Church has not power to remove. 
And if the Church could be brought up to this Temperance 



TEMPERANCE AND RELIGION. 291 

cause, to enlist in it zealously and heartily, its triumph would be 
speedy and complete. 

3. The Temperance reformation has ever had a close connec- 
tion with religion. It has prospered just in proportion to the 
maintenance of that connection and has receded wherever it has 
thrown off that aid. The cause originated with a physician, 
Dr. Rush ! and notwithstanding his ability and influence it had 
no effect until the note of alarm came out of the Christian 
Church ! and the men who have since then urged it on, have 
been mainly ministers of the gospel, and still are such to a great 
extent. The religious community has the deepest interest in 
the triumph of this cause. Let any man attempt to write the 
history of the Church in this land, and what a dark page would 
that be which should record its aversion to this cause. The 
cause of intemperance opposes religion with the boldest and 
most open front. From the first step to the last, it is most 
directly hostile to it. All other evils put together have not 
robbed the Church of so many distinguished men as this. 
Why then shall the Church stand aloof from the Temperance 
cause ? It makes no infidels ; makes no invasion upon any 
good work : disrobes no minister of religion ; bars out no prayers 
from heaven, infuses no pestilential air in the way through life. 
Wherever its friends go, it accompanies them as a blessing to 
the end of their days. Why then, should any friend of religion 
stand aloof from the Temperance Cause. 



JOHN W. OLIVER, M.W.P 



Was born April 30, 1815. His parents emigrated to this 
country from England in 1818. His father pursued farming 
near Baltimore until his death, which took place in January 
1822. He left a widow and four small children, of which John 
was the eldest. 

In 1826, he was bound an apprentice to Benjamin Edes, 
Printer, of Baltimore. The first act for which John was dis- 
tinguished, may be set down as the following : — 

He had been bathing, and while in the water his jacket was 
stolen. As he Avas the owner of but one, he was compelled to 
make the loss known to his employer, who declared that John 
should go in his shirt sleeves as long as the stolen jacket would 
have lasted. Not relishing this very well, he determined to try 
and bring his employer to terms. With the aid of some of his 
fellow apprentices, he made a paper coat, with pasteboard but- 
tons, and every seam distinctly marked out with ink. At din- 
ner time John put on this odd-fashioned garment and proceeded 
to his meal. It so happened on that day that quite a company 
of visitors were present — and John was soon " the observed of 
all observers." The employer was absent. Some of the family 
were enraged — others enjoyed the joke. John was ordered to 







'i.i ed byT.Doneyr 









JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P. 293 

leave the room, which he declined doing. He was then seized 
by the collar and ejected — leaving his coat " all tattered and 
torn," behind him. The scene will never be forgotten by those 
who witnessed it. The fragments of the coat were shown the 
employer, and loud complaints made of the indignity. 

John anticipated a flogging — and prepared for it, by putting 
on all the shirts and waistcoats he could muster. During the 
afternoon, the voice of the employer was heard from below 
stairs — 

" Little John ! " as our hero was called in contra distinction 
to " Big John " an older apprentice. 

" Sir ! " returned John — and all hands were on tiptoe for the 
denouement. 

" Get your hat, and come with me," was the command. 

John obeyed with alacrity — was taken to a tailor and present- 
ed with as good a suit of clothes as he possessed during his 
apprenticeship. 

He soon became a leader among his comrades in all sorts of 
mischief, and it was often predicted that he would " come to no 
good." Left very much to his own way, with no one to watch 
over his moral culture, he soon formed dissipated associations 
and habits. After he was out of his time, he often reflected on 
his couse of life, and more than once resolved on reformation. 
But like thousands of others, he found himself bound to his bad 
habits by a power for the time at least, stronger than his good 
resolutions. About the middle of May, 1835, however, a cir- 
cumstance occurred that gave a different turn to his vhole life. 

On a Thursday evening he and a companion, a shoemaker 
by trade, were musingly proceeding to an accustomed resort, 
when something like the following conversation occurred. 

" I am getting very tired of this kind of life," said John. 

" And so am I," was the reply. 



294 



JOHN W. OLIVER, M.W.P. 



" I have tried to break off these habits and associations — but 
I find it impossible." 

" And so have I — and I too find it impossible." 

" I believe," continued John, and the conversation by this 
time, had assumed a seriousness quite unusual to both — u I 
believe my only chance to do better is to leave Baltimore, and 
get among strangers." 

" And so do I," was the reply. 

" Then what do you say for a tramp ? " 

" Agreed ! " 

On the Sunday morning following, before day-light, they 
were on the way — their entire wardrobes tied up in a small 
handkerchief, and their united capital less than ten dollars. 
They took the first road they came to, and followed it — without 
any fixed purpose other than to get out of Baltimore, or the 
slightest idea as to where they were going. The all-engrossing 
thought was — to get away from their bad habits and associations. 

The road led them to York, Pa., one of the last places they 
should have gone to with any hope of employment. They 
arrived there early the next morning — and sought work, but in 
vain. They continued their " tramp " to Columbia — but with 
no better success. Nothing daunted, they pushed on to Lancas- 
ter, which they reached with blistered feet and jaded limbs. 
Still finding no employment, and being utterly unable to pro- 
ceed farther on foot, they prevailed upon the railroad agent to 
convey them to Philadelphia for all the money they had left — 
considerably less than the regular fare. 

They arrived in the city of Brotherly Love penniless, about 
dusk. " Strangers in a strange land," they felt desolate enough. 
After wandering about the city for a while, they fortunately fell 
In with a kind hearted gentleman who kept a boarding-house in 
Third-street. Tbey frankly told him their story — it interested 



JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P. 295 

him, and he offered the wanderers a home, which was most 
gratefully accepted. The next morning the landlord procured 
employment for the companion. He then visited several of the 
printing offices to find a situation for Oliver — but in this he failed. 

After a week had elapsed the companion became homesick, 
and proposed to return, but Oliver would not consent. Before 
they left Baltimore they vowed to each other not to separate 
except by mutual consent. The companion offered all he could 
command to be released from this obligation — but in vain. At 
length Oliver proposed to go to New York — and in the event of 
their failing to get employment, or not liking the place, then to 
ship and go to any part of the world. This was assented to. 

On the 26th of May, after many kind words of advice from 
their host, they took seats in a forward car of the Camden and 
Amboy Railroad. About noon they were landed in New York 
— again friendless and penniless in a strange city. On reaching 
the lower part of Broadway, they met a merchant of Baltimore 
whom they knew only by sight. So glad were they of the 
privilege of even looking on some one they had seen before, 
that they followed him, until he entered a store. 

They strolled round the city for nearly an hour, baggage in 
hand. On going through Fulton street, a printer's sign met 
their view. Oliver entered the office, and found Mr. William 
S. Dorr the proprietor, at his desk writing an advertisement for a 
hand. Terms were agreed upon, and after despatching his com- 
rade to find a boarding house, Oliver went to work. After a 
short time the comrade returned in great alarm. Calling Oliver 
aside he exclaimed — 

" Why, John, the boarding-house keepers want pay in ad- 
vance, and we havn't a cent ! " 

Oliver, really glad to find this was the worst, put on his coat 
and went to the boarding-house. 



296 



JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P. 



" I am a printer, Madam," said he boldly to the landlady, 
fully believing this announcement only necessary to inspire 
confidence. 

" Indeed, sir, I have found the printers a very bad set," 
replied the landlady. " It was only last week one went away 
from here without paying his board!" 

This was an unlooked-for and unanswerable argument — but 
however, they succeeded in gaining the good graces of the 
landlady, and were very comfortably provided for. 

On the following day the companion procured employment, 
and for several weeks everything passed along swimmingly. 
But the shoemaker soon became dissatisfied — and without con- 
sulting his comrade, shipped and went on a whaling voyage. 
Oliver continued in good employment, and labored faithfully at 
his trade. 

In 1836 he learnt that his only brother, Isaac, was forming 
associations similar to those from which he had fled. This 
caused him much uneasiness. He asked his employer — for 
whom he was then acting as foreman — if he would take Isaac 
as an apprentice, stating that he would like to have his brother 
learn to be a printer under his own eye. The employer con- 
sented, and Isaac was written for. 

In November, 1836, John got into business in a small way 
for himself, at 134 Division street. A short time after, a young 
man entered the office, and extending his hand familiarly 
exclaimed — 

" Why, John, how do you do ! " 

John took his hand mechanically, but said nothing. The 
stranger continued in astonishment — 

" Why, don't you know me % " 

" Well, it seems to me your face is familiar," replied John, 
ct but really I cannot call your name." 



JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P. 297 

" Is it possible you don't know your own brother ! " 

The scene that followed was interesting and mutually gratify- 
ing 1 . But eighteen months before, John had left his brother a 
small boy — now, though but seventeen, that brother was as ta.ll 
as himself. Isaac at once placed himself under John as an 
apprentice. 

In 1837, the shoemaker returned from sea, and was much 
rejoiced, and not a little surprised, to find his old companion 
doing so well. A few weeks after, he went back to Baltimore 
— and ultimately to his old associations and habits. 

The financial difficulties of 1837 compelled John to relinquish 
business, and go to work as a journeyman. In May, 1838, he 
hired a small room at 78 Canal street, and with about $2 50 
re-commenced business. Not feeling entire confidence however 
in the enterprise, and as at that time he filled a lucrative situa- 
tion, he placed his diminutive establishment in charge of his 
brother, and continued to work as a journeyman. 

After laboring hard all day, the two brothers would sally forth 
at night — one with a bucket of paste and a brush, the other 
with two or three thousand bills calling attention to their office 
— and work at bill posting till twelve or one o'clock. The busi- 
ness soon amounted to about thirty dollars a week, and this war- 
ranted John in devoting his whole time to his own office. 

In 1841, Isaac was out of his time, and acted as foreman for 
John. In March of the same year, Messrs. Mitchell, Hawkins, 
Pollard, Shaw and Casey, of the original Washington Temper- 
ance Society of Baltimore, visited New York. The brothers 
Oliver were among the first to sign the pledge under their 
truthful appeals. They participated in the organization of the 
Washington Temperance Benevolent Society, and threw them- 
selves into the work with singular devotion. 

In May following, the New York Organ was started, by a 



298 JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P. 

joint company. When the second instalment on the capital 
stock was called for however, there was a general backing out, 
and Oliver was left to assume the paper or let it die. He chose 
the former, and continued its publication until July, 1842. 
From various considerations he then disposed of it. 

For the first time since he left it, he now made a visit to Bal- 
timore. What inroads had Intemperance made upon his old 
friends and associates ! Some had died drunkards — some were 
in prison — some had been killed in drunken frays — while others 
were steeped in poverty and degradation! Then it was that 
his heart swelled with gratitude to that mysterious Providence 
which had so strangely influenced him to leave his home, and 
go among strangers — and which had truly led him on in a way 
he knew not. 

As soon as it became known to the officers of the Washington 
Temperance Society that he was in the city, they waited on 
him, and insisted that he should make a speech. It was duly 
set forth in the papers that " John W. Oliver, formerly of Balti- 
more, and late editor of the New York Organ " would deliver 
an address — and a large audience was drawn together among 
which were many of his old associates. He had little confi- 
dence in his powers as a speaker — and active as he had been in 
the temperance movement, he had never addressed a public 
meeting. It may be supposed, therefore, that he mounted the 
rostrum with fear and trembling. The audience perceived his 
embarrassment, and gave him such a round of applause that he 
was enabled to proceed with some tolerable degree of confidence. 

In the latter part of September, 1842, John and Isaac, while 
at work in their printing office, got into a conversation about the 
difficulties which appeared to hinder the temperance reform. 
During this conversation it was suggested whether an organiza- 
tion of a more permanent character could not be formed, which 



JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P. 299 

should bind its members to total abstinence, elevate their charac- 
ters as men, and afford mutual assistance in adversity or distress. 
The establishment of the Order of the Sons of Temperance 
was the result. 

At the organization of New York Division No. 1, September 
29, 1842, he was elected R. S. by his own request. At the 
formation of the Grand Division, December 10, 1842, he was 
chosen G. S. which office he filled until October, 1813, wl. 
he was elevated to the Chair of G. W. P. During his adminis 
tration he planted the Order in Baltimore, and opened the Grand 
Divisions of New Jersey, Maryland, Pennsylvania and Connec- 
ticut, in person. At the organization of the National Division 
he was elected M. W. P. but declined the honor, and was then 
elected M. W. S. which office he filled for two years. The 
duties devolving upon these stations at this early stage of the 
Order, were immense — and it may be safely said, they did not 
suffer in his hands. Besides conducting the very extensive cor- 
respondence of the Order, he was constantly engaged in explain- 
ing and defending its principles through such newspapers in dif- 
ferent parts of the country as would give him a hearing, and in 
writing to influential friends of temperance in every direction 
urging them to form Divisions. 

In October 1844, The New York Organ after changing hands 
repeatedly, became so embarrassed that the publisher could not 
continue it. The Grand Division of New York, feeling the im- 
portance of sustaining a journal devoted to the Order, took the 
subject up — and after discussing many propositions for its con- 
tinuance, finally prevailed on Mr. Oliver to re-assume its publi- 
cation. The paper at that time had run down to about 1,300 
subscribers — nothing like a sufficient number to defray the ex- 
pense of publication. 

In the spring of 1847, Isaac having previously commenced 
business, the two brothers formed a partnership under the firm 



300 JOHN W. OLIVER, M. W. P. 

of Oliver and Brother, which still continues — and by their well- 
directed energy, their business was greatly increased. They 
commenced the publication of Temperance Tracts on a large 
scale, and we believe they were the first who made such an 
enterprise pay. 

In December of this year the famous libel suit was tried, in 
which the rumsellers obtained a verdict against Mr. Oliver of $250 
and costs, amounting altogether to $800. This however proved 
rather a thorn in the sides of the grog-dealers, for the friends 
of Temperance at a large public meeting in the Tabernacle 
made up $200, which they presented to Mr. Oliver. He offered 
this sum as a premium for the best Essay on the Evils of the 
Liquor Traffic, and this produced Kitchel's Celebrated Appeal, 
very generally considered the ablest paper written on the subject. 

In 1849, The Organ reached a weekly circulation of 11,000. 
During that year Oliver and Brother issued nearly a million 
Temperance tracts and papers. In January 1850, from a heavy 
increase of business, and from other causes, they deemed it best 
to dispose of The Organ, and confine their attention exclusively 
to the printing business. Since then they have nearly doubled 
that part of their business — and appear to be on the high road 
to fortune. 

At the seventh session of the National Division, held in Bos- 
ton, June 11, 1850, Mr. Oliver was elected M. W. P. 

The two brother's have recently erected and fitted up two 
fine dwellings in the upper part of the city, at a cost of $20,000 
— which they now occupy. 

The contrast between the successful emplojnng Printer and 
devoted friend of Temperance of 1850, and the pedestrian, pack 
in hand, running away from his bad habits in 1835, furnishes a 
most interesting and useful lesson. It is a striking example of 
what may be accomplished by Decision, Perseverance, In- 
dustry and Temperance. 



THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN. 

BY N. WILSON, P. G. W. P. 

This subject suggests several very important, serious and 
deeply interesting questions, into the full merits of all which, 
without occupying too much space in your contemplated 
volume, I shall not attempt to examine. 

Man was created upright and in the image of his Maker and 
endowed with a capacity to reflect and reason, and with these 
faculties in active natural exercise, our duty, or that which is 
the same thing, our obligations, to our Creator, to society and 
to our fellow-man, will, at once, become apparent and under 
proper influences, develope and ripen, into the most beautiful 
and cheering results. 

But, it is the ten thousand malign influences, the invention of 
that same old serpent, that so sadly and fatally imposed upon 
the credulity, of mother Eve, in the first Eden, to contend 
against which, we need more than the wisdom of Solomon and 
the patience of Job, and over which to be completely successful, 
we need, and must have the aid and blessing of the Great Patri- 
arch above. And again, in the volume of inspiration, it is writ- 
ten, " The seed of woman shall bruise the serpent's head." A 
glorious promise and full of hope. With emphasis, this, then, 
we ask, what is our duty, as Temperance men ? 



302 THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN. 

This question is intimately, yea, inseparably connected with 
all the great interests of society, pecuniary, social, political, 
moral and religious. 

And it is of the highest consequence, that the literature of 
our country should everywhere breathe an atmosphere, the 
farthest possible removed from the fumes of alcohol. Heaven 
forbid, that any altar, hereafter reared by genius in any of the 
varied departments of learning, science, or art, throughout the 
length and breadth of this boasted land of liberty, should be 
dedicated to Bacchus, or that worshippers of the heathen wine- 
god should be found in free America. 

That such have existed is a sad reality, painful to contem- 
plate. To prevent such in future and to reclaim their unfortu- 
nate devotees is the urgent, imperious duty of Temperance men. 

Here, to be sure, another grave question presents itself, requir- 
ing solution. How can it he done ? Could this question be 
answered with entire satisfaction, I should almost be tempted to 
exclaim with the good Simeon of old, it is enough, " now lettest 
thou thy servant depart in peace," &c. Our answer is, much, 
very much can be done by individual and united effort — by con- 
tinued and unwearied energy in any and every possible way, 
that affection and kindness, interest and ingenuity can suggest, 
and let the effort be commensurate with the evil to be encoun- 
tered and the difficulties and obstacles in the way of its success- 
ful accomplishment. Let the voice of warning, of entreaty, 
of expostulation, of stirring, but kind rebuke be heard and 
repeated not only to the tempted, but to the tempter. Let each 
be made to see and feel his situation and if need be and when 
milder means have failed, each should be compelled to desist, 
by such other means, as every intelligent moral people will be 
sure to apply, as the emergency may require. 

The character of the obstacles and of the individuals impli- 



THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN. 303 

cated deserve careful and sober consideration. " If words, or 
grass will do," use either or both, as the occasion may require ; 
but, if neither will answer, "then pelt," the offender, "with 
stones." But, let me not be misunderstood on this point, " The 
stones " are designed for the Tempter, not the Tempted. 

The Rev. T. P. Hunt of Philadelphia, one of the most elo- 
quent advocates of Temperance in our country, in one of his 
public addresses, remarked, " when I can make an individual 
engaged in this murderous and infamous business see and feel, 
that if there is a being on earth, who deserves from man a 
halter and from God a hell, it is a rumseller, then I have some 
hope of his abandoning the business without legal coercion and 
I have no hope until then." 

Such, in fact, has been my own observation and experience 
on this subject, that, I am constrained to believe, the dealer in 
intoxicating drinks, of the present day, can, in no way, be 
restrained, so long as " money " can be made out of it, unless, 
he is driven from the traffic. Yes — driven. Drive him by kind- 
ness, by argument, by persuasion, by setting before him the nature 
and woeful consequences of his avocation, if you can — but — and 
if need be, by the strong arm of the law, energetically and 
persevering] y applied. Half-way measures are of no avail. 

The individual engaged in such business should be made to 
understand the length, depth, breadth and enormity of his busi- 
ness. Mere dollars and cents are nothing. Character, life, 
merit, temporal and eternal destiny are at stake. The Judg- 
ment Day only can reveal the true nature, enormity and extent 
of such traffic. But, it will be written out there by the pen of 
the Almighty and it will be read there in the presence of the 
assembled universe. 

And here, I frankly admit, that, I have witnessed so many 
spectacles of human misery, of blasted hopes and blighted, 



304 THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN. 

ruined prospects and often, where hope seemed brightest — and 
seen and known so much of the heartless, meaningless promises 
of the rumseller, and have been so long toiling and making 
sacrifices for the suppression of this terrible evil, that, I may be 
somewhat impatient for a speedy triumph. 

It may be very easy, for those, who are too indifferent, or too 
lazy, or selfish to toil for the good of others, to preach patience, 
but, circumstances may occur, when, forbearance ceases to be a 
virtue and it is equally true, that, those who feel and truly feel 
are also equally ready to act. 

Can one stand on the brink of a precipice, or on the edge of 
a mighty cataract, over which to step or plunge, is inevitable 
death, and see his friends and neighbors, or even strangers con- 
stantly approaching and never lift the warning voice, or raise an 
arm to save 1 We see them take the fearful plunge — the broken 
rocks and the boiling vortex have crushed and swallowed up 
many — others are nearing it — and can we stand idle spectators 
of such a scene ? Something must be done and somebody must 
do it. 

Varied and multiplied have been the efforts to suppress this 
monster vice. The pledge of abstinence from distilled liquors 
did much, " The Total Abstinence Pledge " did more, and that 
movement, which took for its title,.the name of the Father of 
his Country and without sullying it, did yet more and a proud 
day was that for America. But, time rolled on and even this 
wonderful agency lost its magic power. The tide of sympathy 
nad reached its full flow and had already begun to ebb. The 
various eras had, one after another, spent their vitality and 
energy and still the pestilence raged on. Philanthropists began 
to look and wonder and stare each other in the face and with 
restless anxiety ask each other, what shall be done? "By 
whom shall we go up]" 



THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN. 305 

At this crisis, sprung into being the noble Order of the Sons 
of Temperance and with its tri-colored flag unfurled to the 
breeze, with the inspiring motto, " Love, Purity and Fidelity," 
thousands rushed to its standard, and by this new agency thou- 
sands of hearts have been made glad, and the tear of sorrow 
dried from many a weeping eye. This Order has indeed estab- 
lished " A City of Refuge " and proclaimed a year of jubilee, 
and richly does it deserve the gratitude, encouragement and 
approbation of the community. 

But, alas, powerful and successful as has proved this new 
agency — the great work is not accomplished. Much, very 
much yet remains to be done. The demon of intemperance 
still stalks unrestrained through many of the fairest portions of 
this beautiful land. The bitter tear still flows — hearts once 
glowing with love and joy are broken — the mother weeps and 
sighs — the fond and doting wife mourns and pines in secret, 
sickness follows, and the king of terrors is welcomed to give re- 
lief to that sorrow, the living cannot bear.. 

And must it be thus? Can nothing more be done? Duty 
still points " onward and upward" and in language not to be 
misunderstood, bids us " hope on, hope ever." 

History informs us, that, the father of the young Hannibal 
required of his son a solemn vow of eternal enmity to the 
Romans, which he seems to have kept and regarded as even 
more sacred than his life. Success attended him on every hand 
and many and brilliant were his victories. But, Hannibal was 
finally forced to surrender — not conquered by Rome, for Rome, 
with all her power and her hosts of valiant warriors and urged 
on by the brave Scipio, could never have vanquished Hannibal, 
had the Carthegenian Senate sustained their noble general and 
sent him the men and supplies demanded — sustained as he should 
have been, the Roman Eagle must have trailed in the dust. 

20 



306 THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN. 

If wise, we may hence learn an instructive and salutary 
lesson. 

Let temperance men sustain each other, sustain their friends — 
men and means should never be wanting to carry on this holy 
war. 

We may properly and honestly differ in our views and plans 
of accomplishing the great object, but, if sincere and true, every 
minor consideration will be wained, and common danger and a 
common foe will concentrate and combine our efforts, and every 
reasonable sacrifice required will be made with cheerfulness and 
alacrity. 

None dare deny the justness of our cause, or that our object 
is noble and praiseworthy. Heaven has smiled upon us — good 
men have approbated — we are sure, that we are right — let us 
then u go-ahead." 

I have time only, in this communication, to speak of one 
other point and that is, the duty of Temperance men to the 
young men of our country. Our young men must early take 
" the Vow" and swear upon their country's altar eternal enmity 
to " the common foe of all mankind." Our youth must be 
trained to temperance. But, with whom shall their early train- 
ing begin 1 We answer, with the mother. It is her prerogative, 
her duty, her pleasure. 

Bonaparte once asked the celebrated Madam De Stael, in 
what manner he could best promote the happiness of the French 
nation. " Instruct the mothers of the French People," was 
her noble reply. And it was a noble sentiment, replete with 
political wisdom. 

By one of the laws of the famous Spartan Law-giver, the 
great Lycurgus, the infants of Sparta were trained for the State 
by their mothers, and these were the children, numbering only 
six thousand, who with the brave Leonidas stood in the Pass of 



THE DUTY OF TEMPERANCE MEN. 307 

Thermopylae and turned back and conquered Xerxes with his 
two and one-half millions of trained Persian Soldiers. 

The influence of the educated mother, who has right views 
upon this great subject — (and every woman should have, as she 
values the prosperity and happiness of her offspring,) is beyond 
human calculation. Let the youthful, and buoyant impulses 
beat high for Temperance, and may their young blood never be 
poisoned by the use of intoxicating beverages. 

To our young men, then, let our efforts be faithfully and per- 
severingly directed — Humanity demands it — Love for our com- 
mon country, for our own fire-sides require it — Our holy Religion, 
and the obligations we are under to the Supreme Ruler of the 
Universe enjoin it as an imperious Duty. 

Under such influences, and urged on by high and holy 
motives to do good, the coming generation will be safe — our 
country will be safe, and we, with justifiable pride, and eleva- 
ted pleasure, may point to such and exclaim — " These are my 
jewels ! " 



THE SPOILER. 

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY. 

Parent ! — who with speechless feeling, 

O'er thy cradled treasures bent, 
Every year new claims revealing, 

Yet thy wealth of love unspent — 
Hast thou seen that blossom blighted 

By a drear untimely frost 1 
All thy labor unrequited? 

Every glorious promise lost? 

Wife ! — with agony unspoken, 

Shrinking from affliction's rod, 
Is thy prop — thine idol broken — 

Fondly trusted — next to God 1 
Husband ! — o'er thy hope a mourner, 

Of thy chosen friend ashamed, 
Hast thou to her burial borne her, 

Unrepentant — unreclaimed 1 



THE SPOILER. 309 

Child ! — in tender weakness turning 

To thy heaven appointed guide, 
Doth a lava-poison burning, 

Tinge with gall affection's tide'? 
Still that orphan burden bearing, 

Darker than the grave can show, 
Dost thou bow thee down despairing, 

To a heritage of wo 1 

Country ! — on thy sons depending, 

Strong in manhood, bright in bloom, 
Hast thou seen thy pride descending, 

Shrouded to the unbounded tomb? 
Rise ! — on eagle pinion soaring — 

Rise ! — like one of God-like birth — 
And, Jehovah's aid imploring, 

Sweep the spoiler from the earth. 



HON. HORACE GREELEY. 

Horace Greeley was born in the town of Amherst, New 
Hampshire, on the 3d day of February, 1811 ; his father, who 
then owned and cultivated a small farm lying partly in Amherst 
and partly in Bedford, N. H., now lives in Western Pennsylva- 
nia ; his mother also still lives. The Greeleys are of English 
stock, and had been for several years settled in this country 
mainly in the lower part of New Hampshire, where they were 
generally poor farmers, though there is a branch of the family 
settled in Maine, descended from a brother of the common 
ancestors of the New Hampshire Greeleys, who came out from 
England in the same vessel with the other. As long ago as 
1*740, the New Hampshire branch was settled in Salisbury, 
N. H. The mother of Horace was, before marriage, Mary Wood- 
burn, of Londonderry, N. H., all whose ancestors, (Woodburns, 
Clarks, &c.,) were Scotch-Irish, transplanted from Scotland into 
Ireland some centuries ago, Presbyterians in faith, and provided 
with wild lands in New Hampshire, by William III., for their 
valor and devotion to the Protestant cause displayed by them in 
the desperate defence of Londonderry, Ireland, against the Cath- 
olic Irish, fighting for King James II. The town of Londonderry, 
N. H., was granted to these defenders of old Londonderry, and a 
tract of one hundred and twenty acres allotted to John Wood- 




M O !•: 






HON. HORACE GREELEY 311 

ourn, ancestor of Mary, settled by him in 1721-2, and ever since 
owned and cultivated by him and his male descendants. Its pre- 
sent possessor is John Woodburn, youngest surviving brother of 
Mrs. Greeley. 

Horace is the oldest of five surviving children of Zaccheus and 
Mary Greeley ; two having died before his birth. He possessed 
from infancy a remarkable facility of acquiring such know- 
ledge as taxed the faculties of perception and memory only, hav- 
ing learned, with scanty and fitful instruction, to read well in 
his fourth, and to spell excellently before he had completed his 
fifth year. A habit of reading equally well from a book with 
one end or the other toward him — insensibly acquired by learn- 
ing to read from a book lying on his mother's knee while she 
was engaged in work, and he standing by her side, was a subject 
of much crude wonder during his infantile years, and gave coun- 
tenance to many neighborhood tales of marvelous proficiency 
on his part, which have not yet faded from the fireside gossip 
of the towns in which his earliest years were passed. His 
faculty of spelling correctly (through the tenacity of his memory 
merety,) placed him at the head of the ' first class,' while attend- 
ing school from his grandfather Woodburn's, when but four and 
five years old, over the heads of pupils of from fifteen to twen- 
ty-odd years, and as he took part in the evening ' spelling 
matches,' requiring to be aroused when his turn came to spell, it 
was currently reported that he spelled just as well asleep as 
awake. His facility of learning and remembering songs, recita- 
tions, &c.j prolonged the wonder for a year or two, when, (being 
still too small to learn to write,) he was set to studying grammar, 
and the bubble burst at once. Here simple tenacity of memory 
would not suffice, and his infantile progress was slow enough. 
The rudiments of arithmetic, however, he found very easy of 
acquirement, and fancied that he might have attained distinction 



312 HON. HORACE GREELEY. 

in mathematics, had opportunity served. But at seven years of 
age he was called from school to labor on his father's farm, and 
has never since devoted a summer day to study, except a very 
few rainy ones. He continued to attend in winter for the most 
part until fourteen, but the terms were then much shorter, and 
the facilities for acquirement much less than they now are. He 
never saw the inside of any academy, seminary, nor select school 
as a student. 

When seven years old, his father removed to a larger farm in 
Bedford, which he worked, (on shares,) two years, returning to 
his own in 1820. He was soon after overwhelmed with pecu- 
niary embarrassment, (then all but universal in that region,) had 
his property taken by the Sheriff, on suspicion of debt ; (no one 
having obtained a judgment against him,) and, leaving his family 
well cared for, he started westward in search of another home. 
He found one m the town of Westhaven, Vermont, near the 
head of Lake Champlam, returned for his family and removed 
them thither, in January, 1821. Here he lived till 1826, devot- 
ing three years to clearing land, one to farming on shares, and 
one to running a saw-mill, aided in all by his two boys, ranging 
from nine to fifteen years of age. In 1826, he looked further, 
found a home to his mind in Erie county, Pennsylvania, return- 
ed for his family, and removed thither, and there is still his 
home, with that of a majority of his children, now all married. 

In 1822, Horace who had early shown a fondness for reading, 
especially Newspapers, and had resolved to be a Printer, went 
to the Printing-office in Whitehall, N. Y., and applied to be 
taken as an apprentice, but was rejected as too young and feeble. 
In 1826, he applied at the office of the Northern Spectator, in 
Poultney, Vermont, and was accepted. Here he remained un- 
til June, 1830, when the paper stopped, the business was discon- 
tinued, and he started westward to his father's, which he had 



HON. HORACE GREELEY. 313 

twice already visited. He remained in that vicinity, working- at 
intervals at Jamestown, N. Y., Lodi, N. Y., and Erie, Pa., and 
occasionally on his father's farm, until August of the following 
year, when, finding no more work at his trade, he left for New 
York, landing from a tow-boat, at the foot of Broad-street, on 
the 18th of that month, very poorly clad, with few dollars ; not 
yet of age, and knowing no one within two hundred miles. 
His youth, inexperience, and raw appearance, caused him to be 
suspected and challenged as a runaway apprentice, but by per- 
severing efforts he finally found work as a journeyman, and was 
employed in various offices, with occasional intervals of nothing 
to do, for the next eighteen months. Early in 1833, he, in con- 
nection with another young Printer, Francis V. Story, obtained 
work, which justified them in running in debt for the materials 
of a small Job and Newspaper Printing-office, with which they 
began to execute orders. In July following, Story was drown- 
ed, and Jonas Winchester, a friend of the family succeeded him 
in the business, which was and continued to be prosperous and 
extending. The next spring, (March 22, 1844,) Greeley and 
Winchester commenced The New-Yorker ; a weekly journal 
of literature and general intelligence, of which the project had 
for some time been cherished by the former, who became its 
Editor. It had less than a dozen subscribers, at the outset, the 
publishers being scarcely known, in the city or out of it, but it 
gradually attained a circulation of more than nine thousand 
copies. It was never profitable, however, having a great many 
more patrons than supporters, and its weekly exactions were a 
constant source of anxiety and care to its publishers. Mr. Win- 
chester retired from the concern by agreement in 1836, taking 
with him what was left of the Job printing, which had hitherto 
sustained the paper, now mistakenly deemed able to go alone ; 
and his place was successively taken by several partners, with 



314 HON. HORACE GREELEY. 

no perceptible improvement in its business management or 
pecuniary success. One after another sold out or gave it up as 
a hopeless undertaking, and finally it was left on the hands of 
the Editor alone. Meantime he had been obliged to earn his 
own livelihood mainly outside of the income of the paper, in 
the Editorial conduct and pecuniary sustenance of which most 
of his own time was absorbed. Through the ardent political 
contest of the summer of 1834, he printed, and in good part 
edited a small Whig Daily, entitled The Constitution. Through- 
out the more protracted and arduous struggle of ,1838, he edited 
a cheap Whig Weekly, issued at Albany, and entitled The 
Jeffersonian. In the campaign of 1840, he edited and published 
a cheap, widely circulated Whig Weekly, entitled The Log- 
Cabin. The first of these was a source of pecuniary loss to 
him. The second paid him a salary ; the third, though issued 
under great disadvantages, yielded him a moderate profit ; so 
that in the spring of 1841, after seven years of severe labor and 
rigid parsimony, the delinquent patrons of The New-Yorker had 
just about absorbed the little capital on which that paper was 
commenced, and his earnings and those of his partners during 
its continuance — no one having ever drawn out of the concern 
a dollar more than he had put in, and very rarely that much. 
The fruits of all this toil and experience was a convii tion of the 
superiority of Cash Payment, so far at least as Newspapers are 
concerned. 

In the spring of 1841, Mr. Greeley, then without a partner, 
and with very moderate means, resolved to try the experiment 
of a cheap Whig daily, devoted to the interests of Labor as he 
understood them, to liberal sentiments and generous purposes, 
to Temperance in all things, to inflexible Morality, and to the 
exposition and defence of the principles of a beneficent and wise 
National Policy. The first No. was issued on the 10th of April, 



HON. HORACE GREELEY. 315 

though the death of General Harrison, and the consequent fore- 
bodings of disaster among those who had struggled to elect him, 
had intervened since the enterprise was determined on to mar its 
prospects most seriously. The New York Tribune appeared 
on the day observed in our city as one of public mourning for the 
President's death. It had few subscribers to start with, and not 
many friends, while its financial reserve was quite limited. The 
first week's current expenses were over five hundred dollars ; its 
receipts less than one hundred. But the prospect gradually 
brightened ; a most efficient and admirable business-partner soon 
after offered to embark in the concern, and was accepted, to the 
immediate liberation of the editor from a chafing burthen of pe- 
cuniary anxieties and business cares ; and at the close of the first 
year the paper had over Ten Thousand daily subscribers and 
purchasers, and was fully paying its way. It has never since 
done worse, and its patronage has gradually increased to seven- 
teen thousand daily, beside a weekly edition of over thirty thou- 
sand copies, and a semi-weekly, California, &c, amounting to 
several thousands more. Probably no other journal issued in 
America is more widely diffused or exerts a more decided influ- 
ence on public sentiment and public policy. And the daily is 
now the cheapest sheet, considering its size and the amount of 
reading, that is issued in the world. 

On the 1st of January, 1825, our subject, then not quite four- 
teen years of age, concluded, on a review of matters in general, 
that he would drink no more Ardent Spirits, and has ever since 
adhered to that resolution. He did not know when he made 
the resolve that any Temperance Society existed, nor was he 
acquainted with an individual who utterly rejected the ' Spark- 
ling bowl.' Liquor had always been free in his father's house, 
and no one made drunk by it. Still, he concluded to do with- 
out it, and, except a little taken as medicine when he had the 



316 HON. HORACE GREELEY. 

fever and ague soon after, and as much more turned down his 
throat at a sheep-washing soon after by three or four friends of 
* The Largest Liberty ' who had heard of his resolve not to 
drink and were disgusted by its absurdity, he has imbibed no 
alcoholic potation and desired none. And he now believes that 
he has been enabled to endure an amount of protracted mental 
labor, physical exposure, late hours, confinement to a sitting 
posture, &c. which must in all probability have cut short his 
life ere this, had he been addicted to c moderate ' drinking. 

In the winter of 1840-1 he devoted some time to the consid- 
eration of pauperism, its causes, progress, goal, and the various 
plans suggested for its counteraction. The result was a pro- 
found conviction (from which he has not since swerved) that a 
radical reform in the social relations of mankind is essential and 
inevitable. The plan which he was led to believe most practi- 
cable and beneficent is substantially that of united households 
and Combined Efforts in industry and art first proposed by 
Charles Fourier, though many of the speculations of that bril- 
liant genius with regard to theology, cosmogony, psychology, 
&c. are not accepted by him. But the great practical idea of 
Co-operation in life and industry, so as to heat, light, supply 
with water, and ventilate thoroughly the dwellings of a hun- 
dred families at one-fourth the cost of effecting the same end 
wretchedly, or not at all, under our present system of isolation 
and antagonism, he heartily accepts and labors to commend, 
hoping to see the day when the same commodious and magnifi- 
cent edifice shall afford separate and secluded homes for rich 
and poor at a cost greatly less than the present; when the 
arable earth shall no longer be cut up and covered over by con- 
tinually exacting fences, but laid off into fields of a mile if 
not miles square, cultivated in good part by machinery, securing 
an immense economy of Labor and a vast increase of Produc- 



HON. HORACE GREELEY. 817 

tion, while Schools far superior to the present shall be found 
under the very roof which shelters the children needing their 
inculcations, with ample libraries, apparatus, reading-rooms, 
halls for devotion, Social Intercourse, Festivity, &c. &c. Such 
are among the outward and physical manifestations of l the 
good time coming ' which The Tribune anticipates, awaits and 
strives to secure. 

Mr. Greeley was married on the 5th of July, 1836, to Mary 
Young Cheney of Litchfield, Conn., then a teacher in Warren- 
ton, N. C. Five children have been born to them, of whom 
but one, a daughter born in November, 1848, survives. An 
idolized son (Arthur Young) was swept off by the Cholera, 
July 12th, 1849, aged five and one-fourth years. The others 
died in infancy ; the eldest six months old. The father, now 
thirty-nine years old, is of pale complexion, light hair, half 
bald, stooping in gait, and of medium height and size, though 
formerly quite slender. He was chosen in 1848 to fill a va- 
cancy in the XXXth Congress, and served through the short 
session preceding Gen. Taylor's inauguration. Though always 
deeply interested in public affairs, he was at no other time, a 
candidate for any political station of consequence. 



JOHN H. W. HAWKINS 

This distinguished laborer in the cause of Temperance, was 
born in the city of Baltimore, State of Maryland, September 
28th, 1797 ; he was the son of a pious father, whose death 
occurred when his son, the subject of the following remarks, was 
but 14 years of age, his mother being poor, and left with a large 
number of children, and John being the oldest of the male chil- 
dren, he was bound by the Orphans' Court to the trade of a hat- 
ter, at which trade he served until he was 21 years of age. It 
was at this early age he was thrown into the worst of associ- 
ations ; he began thus early in life to accustom himself to the 
habitual use of intoxicating drinks — the habit growing stronger 
and stronger until he became a periodical drunkard. When 22 
years of age, he left his native city and wandered to the western 
country ; he at length reached the State of Kentucky — this was 
in the year 1819, he took up his residence in the village of Bed- 
ford, county of Henry, where he remained about three years ; it 
was during his residence in the above State that he became a 
confirmed drunkard. Returning to his native home, he saw the 
necessity of restraining himself, being under the eye of his pious 
mother. Shortly after his return home, he was married to a de- 
votedly pious young lady, by the name of Rachel Thompson, 
by whom he had six children, three of whom are now living, 
viz : William, Elizabeth and Hannah, the last named, the Tern- 



JOHN H. W. HAWKINS. 319 

perance world will at once recognize as the devoted child who, 
under God, was the instrument of his final reformation, which 
took place in Baltimore on the 15th June, 1840. The ever me- 
morable Washington Temperance Society being formed of many 
of his old associates, he resolved at once to join them, and the 
moment that he did so, he found favor in the sight of God, and 
his fellow-men. In the month of March following the forma- 
tion of the above society, the friends of temperance in the city 
of New York, hearing of this extraordinary movement, which 
then numbered more than a thousand reformed drunkards, re- 
solved to have some of them come to the city of New York and 
hold temperance meetings, negociations were entered into at 
once for a delegation, accordingly five proceeded to the city of 
New York — amongst them was the subject of our remarks. 
After laboring with his companions for some time in the city of 
New York the friends of the cause in the city of Boston, hearing of 
their wonderful success in the reformation of the most abandon- 
ed drunkards, resolved to have some of them pay the city of Bos- 
ton a visit ; accordingly Mr. Hawkins and William E. Wright 
went on, and held many interesting meetings, to which thou- 
sands flocked, and brought with them their unfortunate friends, 
who signed the pledge, and reformed their lives. The great 
mass meeting held in Old Faneuil Hall, the Cradle of Liberty, 
will long be remembered ; when the two speakers entered, the 
Old Cradle rocked with the greatest burst of welcome that was 
ever known in the city of Boston. When they took their seats 
on the stand they were eyed closely by the vast multitude with 
astonishment; after the meeting was opened with prayer, Mr. 
Hawkins was introduced to the audience by that indefatigable 
philanthropist, Deacon Moses Grant ; it may be well for us at 
this point of our narrative, to give the reader some of his re- 
marks upon that memorable occasion. 



320 JOHN H. W. HAWKINS. 

" When I compare," said he, " the past with the present ; 
my days of intemperance with my present peace and sobriety ; 
my past degradation with my present position in this Hall — the 
Cradle of Liberty — I am overwhelmed. It seems to me Holy 
ground. I never expected to see this Hall. I had heard of it 
in boyhood. ' Twas here that Otis and the elder Adams argued 
the principles of American Independence, and we now meet 
here to declare ourselves free and independent ; to make a 
second Declaration — not quite so lengthy as the old o le, but it 
promises life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Our fore- 
fathers pledged their lives and fortunes and sacred honors ; we, 
too, will pledge our honor, our life, but our fortunes have gone 
for rum ! " 

The speech of which the above is only a part, produced the 
most happy results, and from this time the cause began to ad- 
vance with the most astonishing results, and now while we write 
this most imperfect sketch, the subject of our remark is still la- 
boring with unexampled perseverance in the great cause which 
has blessed millions of our fellow beings. 

Mr. Hawkins by his intemperance, which is a natural conse- 
quence, neglected the education of his children, and in the year 
1841, he moved his family to the city of Boston, their present 
place of residence, he at once placed his three children to school 
at the Wesleyan Academy, North Wilbraham, Mass., his son 
entered and graduated at the Wesleyan University, Middletown, 
Connecticut, he then entered the Theological Seminary near 
Alexandria, Va., which is under the patronage of the Episcopal 
Church, and is now preparing himself for the ministry in said 
Church, upon which duties he will enter in about one e&r from 
this time. It is indeed gratifying to see what the cause of Tem- 
perance has done, not only for Mr. Hawkins, but for thousands 
of others. 



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